The Real Captain Pellew
by Shai Ryder
Summary: Captain Pellew gets involved with a spy on accident....has Horatio, Archie, Styles, pretty much the whole crew! :) Please R&R :)
1. Default Chapter

-This story is by several people, myself included

-This story is by several people, myself included.It was a "HoratioJAM" on the late A&E fan fiction board for Hornblower.As a result, this story doesn't have chapters!Some one would write a little and then some one would pick up.So I am probably going to divide it by splitting it up into 20 pages or so, but they really are not chapters! :) 

The Real Captain Pellew

By: Kiddo39, capital, papergrl74, Sophia, Blackthorn

** **

Captain Pellew ate his dinner in silence, his steward Fiennes across the room, picked at his finger nails. Pellew raised his eyebrow at the site of the middle aged man. He knew he was bored. But then again, so was he.   
His window had a thin layer of dew from the cold weather. But he could see young Hornblower and Kennedy looking out over the railing towards England. 'Towards home' Pellew thought.   
The captain threw down his cloth napkin. "I'm down Fiennes. Please clear it away." He said with a yawn. Fiennes, startled out of his previous engagement, nodded his head with a "Very good, sir."  
Pellew looked at him with extreme annoyance. 'Why did I ever choose this moron' he thought to himself. With a sigh, he walked to the window. Using his kerchief he wiped the moisture off the window. Hornblower and Kennedy still stood there, laughing occasionally and huddling their shoulders together to keep warm. 'Why don't they just go to their quarters? Its warmer…' Pellew wondered.   
From nowhere he got the urge to speak with his junior officers. He lifted his great coat from a chair. Fiennes mouth dropped open. "I'll be back after I get some fresh air."  
"Yes, sir." Fiennes said. Pellew opened the door once he got his coat on. The cold wind made the hair on his neck stick up. The sentry posted outside saluted.   
"Thank you." and Pellew saluted back. He quietly made his way towards the young officers. "Good evening gentlemen. Nice night eh?"  
Horatio snapped his head around towards his captain. "Sir!" he said. His eye caught Archie's. They were full of fast coming worry. What had they done??

As he approached them, Pellew saw his two young lieutenants exchange a worried glance. It was the normal reaction of two lieutenants addressed suddenly by their captain, and this momentary panic did not usually trouble Pellew. He didn't like to see it, just as he didn't like to eat alone, but he'd accepted both as part of his station.   
  
Tonight, however, the startled exchange troubled him. It was over in a blink of an eye, maybe it was even a trick of the dim twilight--at least, there was nothing to suggest that the two lieutenants actually feared or despised him. And he was fond of them in a paternal way. Surely, they sensed that!   
  
The two lieutenants stood frozen at attention. Pellew nodded.  
  
"At ease, Hornblower and Kennedy."  
  
The two relaxed nothing more than their stance. Pellew nodded again and glanced across the dark ocean in the direction of their destination, England.  
  
"Glad to be going home?"  
  
At this friendly question, Kennedy and Hornblower replied almost in unison, "Yes, Sir," in a tone of voice curbed in enthusiasm. Obviously, both of them wanted to go home, they had been freezing themselves on deck peering and motioning towards home, though England was still invisible to the naked eye, but, at the same time, neither of them wanted to admit that remaining on the ship was less than their fondest wish.   
  
Pellew smiled. "It will be a nice change. The salt's too thick in my blood to retire ashore just yet, but a few days with headroom and comfort and real bread...that's something to look forward to. However we love the Navy, we aren't automatons."  
  
At that, Pellew saw the two lieutenants relax slightly.   
  
"Unfortunately," Pellew continued, "I suspect that the Admiralty won't allow more than a few days. The Indy is coming home in one piece, which is more than can be said for some of the riddled hulls limping across the Channel. All that is required are provisions and some new hands. I'll have a bit of paperwork on my hands, too, some mail, prize money, nothing much. You and your fellow officers will have scant shore leave, make the most of it."   
  
Pellew nodded as they smiled and replied "Yes, Sir," and strode back to his cabin.   
  
Fiennes had cleared off his table with his usual flair--there were crumbs in some of the cracks. Pellew was not a fussy man, but Fiennes never failed to strike a nerve. The ship was coming home in good time: the crew and even the officers' mess was scraping at the bottom of the barrel. Everyone's clothes were hanging looser than before, nobody was leaving crumbs because all they had to eat was crumbs. And yet, here were crumbs on his table. Bad enough that Fiennes had not successfully cleared them away--it was as if he had put them there.  
  
Pellew sighed. Good men were always scarce. And captains and admirals were vultures in this respect. He was wary of praising his officers too loudly, for instance, in fear that some other captain higher up in the list would request their transfer.  
  
If he got rid of Fiennes, what then? Captain Cook had sent back a one-legged cook, only to receive another with one hand. Fiennes was a bit thick and coarse, but he didn't steal or swear.   
  
Pellew glanced out of his window. The night had fallen, it was dark, but he could still see, faintly, the two young lieutenants, still standing at the rail. The shorter Kennedy was waving his arms about, Hornblower was more restrained in his motions (as always), but it was obvious that the two of them were excited by the prospect of a few days shore leave.  
  
Pellew realized that he envied them. While he worried about trading in his dimwit Fiennes, they anticipated good food and rum and beer and pretty girls and everything that he himself thought of when a lieutenant. Meanwhile, his shore leave would consist of a few hours in an airless room with his seniors, many hours concerning minor repairs, the new hands, and the restocking of the ship's larder, and, if he was lucky, one or two pleasant suppers with his colleagues, in which much port would flow with the reminiscences of their rollicking lieutenant days.   
  
What was worse, Pellew wondered, that he couldn't go back to being a lieutenant, or that his present lieutenants would always treat him with the deference that was expected. Hornblower and Kennedy were good lads, and if he'd been a tailor or chef or cabinet-maker or whatever, he could quasi-adopt them and cuff them about with sincere affection. But, he was not only their captain, but captain of over three hundred other men, and he could not forget that.  
  
Straightening in his chair, he chided himself and tried to convince himself that he didn't want more than two days' shore leave.

Pellew sighed as he wiped the crumbs from the table carefully into the palm of his hand. The last thing he wanted was rats or other unwanted guests in his cabin. Silently he swore at Fiennes and his lack in keeping his cabin as neat as he liked it.  
  
With another sigh he retrieved his orders and sat back down at the table. He read the first line again. "To Captain Sir Edward Pellew."  
His eyes strayed from the paper and he found himself watching his young lieutenants again. Somehow he couldn't keep his mind from them and their happy conversation. How he wished for someone he could engage in such happy talk. No one on aboard would dare to talk to him in that manner. Being captain had its good points and bad. He enjoyed every moment at sea. Unfortunately he had no one, such as Hornblower had Kennedy, to confide in.   
  
In fact Hornblower didn't know how lucky he was to find such a friend as Kennedy. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of the two officers. They were so different and yet so alike. Kennedy was innocent and gentle while Hornblower was no nonsense and strict. Put them together and they balanced each other out.   
  
Yet another sighed escaped Pellew as he stacked his papers into a neat pile. He knew it was no use trying to read them again. His mind was else where tonight. Silently he cursed himself and the pains of loneliness that crept into his soul.

  
Portsmouth! Why did it have to be Portsmouth? It was like being stranded in no-man's land, at the Admiralty's beck and call. And with the likelihood of but a few short days, there was no way of getting home - by the time he'd finally arrive upon his own carriageway, it would be time to turn right around again. Ah, but it would not still be worth it? He sighed at the thought of just a glimpse of his beautiful wife, a quick smile at their rambunctious but precious, oh so precious, children.   
  
Plymouth, why could they have not just ordered him to Plymouth instead - where home was a mere hop and skip away. Could he somehow still get diverted there. And then, perhaps? He was weary. These latest campaigns had been exhausting, and with little to show for them all. But a meager handful of prize ships in a what seemed a mind numbing and endless series of days. But, no use wishing for what could be. He was His Majesty's Captain, and a darn good one, thank you very much, and it was wartime and his duty was unquestionable - more than that, it was sacred. And, if there were not, could not be, any close friend on board to confide in whilst sailing towards a shore leave that no doubt provoked an entire arc of hopes and expectations from everyone aboard - from the cook, the lowest ship's boy, to Fiennes (sigh), the crew, and his officers, well there was always paper, and a pen - and the time to pour his heart out to the only person who had ever had it - still had it - his beloved, his Susanna.   
  
He settled in at his desk, with one last glance back at Hornblower and Kennedy, taking in the bracing salt breezes. Their easy companionship cheered him now - ah the joys of youth, he recalled. And then, as he drew out a fresh clean sheet of paper, and a barrel full of endearments tumbled from his pen as he wrote to his wife, he perked up his shoulders and smiled. Why then, I'm not so old am I? Dear God, a few words of love and I can still blush like a schoolboy! He wrote on.

Before he knew it The Indy had arrived in Portsmouth and he was sitting in a rowboat being taken ashore. With dispatches in hand Pellew was all business now. He sat silently, thinking of his day ahead. First things first, he must report to the Admiralty and give a full report on the Indy's last few months at sea. Next he had to deliver the dispatches to Admiral Hood. From there he would most likely be dragged with the Admiral to some God awful meeting with a bunch of old geezers. It wasn't that he disliked the Admiral so much as them reliving their glory days. With a sigh Pellew prayed he would not end up like them when he finally had to give up his life at sea. Then the last thing on his list was taking care of his personal food stores. Remembering the list he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. This only reminded him of Fiennes who sat in front of him in the boat. Pellew would never get everything done in one day. With great hesitation he decided a new plan of action. Clearing his throat he addressed the man," Fiennes, I will need you to attend to this." He handed the startled man the piece of paper. "Do you think you can handle it?" he questioned regretting his decision already.  
  
Fiennes eyes grew big and were about to pop out of his head. "Yes sir!" he finally answered. "You can depend on me sir!"  
  
Pellew gave the man a fake smile then turned his attention on the all too far away shore. "Dear God, can we row a little faster men?" He thought silently. No use cursing the men at his discomfort. Fiennes continued to stare at him with a goofy grin the rest of the journey in the boat.  
As Pellew climbed out of the boat he gave the steward one last order. "Make sure all these are taken aboard the Indy by tonight. Understood?"  
Fiennes nodded eagerly, so willing to please his captain. For a moment Pellew wondered if the man knew how much he disliked him. "Very good Mr. Fiennes, on your way."  
The man nearly bolted down the dock. Pellew watched him leave and tried to put him out of his mind as he walked in the opposite direction. "Sir?" a voice rang out behind him.  
  
Pellew turned half-expecting Fiennes but was happy to see young Kennedy instead. "Yes Mr. Kennedy?"  
"I was just curious sir and thought that if you liked, I could maybe help Fiennes out with your list, if that was alright with you."  
  
Pellew could not hide the smile that sprang across his lips. How he wanted to hug the young officer. "You may have just saved my life Mr. Kennedy! Yes, please assist him in his task."  
  
Archie stared in disbelief at his captain's words but smiled quickly at his enthusiastic tone of voice. "Yes sir!" he replied and quickly turned to catch up with Fiennes. Pellew watched him go feeling so relived. He overheard Hornblower tease Kennedy. "Trying to be the Captain's favorite eh Archie!"  
They laughed and both ran to catch up with the steward.

Pellew, at loss for words, blinked and swayed on his feet. If only his young officers could see him now! He hadn't had the deck shot out from under him so horribly, so to speak, since he took his lieutenant's exam. His vision swam as the stifling air crushed his head and lungs. The hall, sunny and large and unbearably airless, echoed mercilessly Pellew's faint exhalation.   
  
Pellew collected himself and forced himself to focus at the table before him, at which sat the Admiral and three grave and venerably ancient captains. All three were staring at him in an impersonal yet prying matter. Doubtless, they expected nothing but a cheerful response from Pellew, and, accordingly, they were waiting for him to change his doubtless crestfallen look.  
  
Leave the Indy! Pellew swallowed and tried to remember how he used to long for a ship of the line. He had been not thrilled when he first came aboard the Indefatigable, as she was more unwieldy than his previous command, the Arethusa. Since then, however, he had acquired an admiration for the trim frigate, a slew of prizes, and a fine crew, and the thought of parting with the latter struck him especially painfully. It had taken much time and effort to work the ship up to her high standards, and the thought of having to start all over again tired Pellew.   
  
Worse still, the ship that the Admiralty now offered him, the Impetueux, captured from the French, was a den of mutiny.   
  
Pellew inhaled calmly and met the Admiral's pale myopic stare.

After what seemed like an eternity, Pellew answered. "I am greatly honored gentlemen. But if I may, I would like some time to think this over?"  
  
Silence filled the room as Admiral Hood contemplated his answer. "Very well, Captain Pellew. You have 24 hours to decide. We shall meet here again tomorrow at this same time."  
  
Pellew nodded and saluted before retreating from the room. As he exited the huge building he let a sigh of relief escape him. "Dear God, what am I going to tell the men?"   
************************************  
  
Archie and Horatio glanced about the store. Somehow they had lost Fiennes in all the crowds. "Do you see him anywhere?" Archie asked sounding a bit panicked.  
  
Horatio, who towered over everyone around them, shook his head. "Nope, don't see him anywhere. Let's try the next shop."  
  
They were in the only part of Portsmouth that sold the goods the captain had requested on his list. Quickly they entered the busy street, trying not to get lost themselves. It was a Saturday and it seemed that all of Portsmouth was there shopping. Archie had to practically elbow his way through the throngs of people.   
  
Suddenly Horatio cried out with excitement," I see him! Come on Archie, follow me!"  
  
Archie watched as his tall friend bolted out of sight. It was no use; Archie just couldn't keep up. Slowly he headed in the direction Horatio had gone. It was as if the crowd had swallowed him up. He felt like a fish swimming upstream, but instead of fighting currents, he was fighting people.   
  
Suddenly he heard a huge commotion ahead of him. The crowd had cleared out enough for him to squeeze through. As he stepped into empty space the scene before him made him ill. Horatio was kneeling next to Fiennes who had blood gushing from a wound in his neck. Quickly he ran to his friend's side.  
"Horatio! What happened!"  
  
Fiennes gasped for breath as Horatio held his head off the filthy ground. With one hand he applied pressure but blood still squirted from the gaping wound. "No time to explain, get a doctor! Quick!"  
  
Archie turned and ran as fast as he could. Now he shoved people out of his way as he ran through the crowd. "No time for politeness," he thought.  
  
Archie found a doctor and lead him back to the gruesome scene. As he approached Horatio, he knew it was too late. Horatio's crestfallen face said it all. The doctor looked over the dead man then shook his head. "Sorry young man," he said simply and left them to grieve.  
  
"What are we going to tell the captain?" Archie asked, not really wanting to know.  
  
"I don't know."  
They lingered for a moment more before picking up the man. Back aboard the Indy, they waited for the captain to return. No one knew how much Pellew's life was about to change and all because of a steward he despised.

Pellew stood beside the long boat, staring out at the Indy as she waited near the mouth of the port. In the boat below the oarsmen waited patiently. If Sir Edward Pellew wanted to stare out at his ship for hours, that was his business.  
  
Looking back Pellew heaved a sigh. Twenty-four hours. That was not enough time to make such a monumental decision. Biting his lip he stepped down into the boat, determined to sequester himself for as long a possible. This was something he could not allow himself to be distracted from. Pellew smiled wryly to himself. That was a joke. He was the Captain of the Indefatigable, and for the next twenty-three and a half hours at least, he was still responsible for everything that went on around her.  
  
He did not noticed anything different about the ship when he boarded, at least not at first. Then, slowly he could feel the very essence of the ship changing. On his way to his cabin he stopped and looked around. A few crew members stood watching him, but none said a word. Scowling, Pellew glared at the man closest to him. The poor seaman nearly fainted. Pellew spun and continued on his way.  
  
He had only gone a few feet when Hornblower appeared out of the shadows and Pellew had to admit, at least to himself that the young man's sudden appearance nearly scared him out of his skin.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Hornblower... what can I do for you?". The young lieutenant saluted, his face set in a grim mask.  
  
"I think you should see this sir.", he said simply and without leave turned and headed toward the doctor's quarters. Pellew was not sure of the reason for this unseemly behavior, but he said nothing, he simply followed. When they arrived he found Kennedy leaning against a wooden table, his head down and his arms crossed over his chest. it was only at that moment that Pellew saw the blood on both men's clothing and ands.  
  
"What happened?", he demanded as Kennedy stood up and offered him a salute. This Pellew ignored. Hornblower pointed across the room. Pellew could not believe it.  
  
"What on earth?". Hornblower shook his head.  
  
"I don't know sir.", he replied, then pulled a worn and stained packet from his coat. He looked at it for a moment before handing it over to the Captain.  
  
"Please don't tell me my steward was killed for a grocery list.", Pellew said as he took the packet. Hornblower shook his head, a dark curl falling across his forehead.  
  
"I don't think so sir.", he replied. Pellew looked at Kennedy, then back to Hornblower. Neither man looked happy. Pellew unfolded the papers and started reading...

He sat in silence, still holding the papers. He could not believe what he had just read. Five minutes went by as he remained silent and unmoving. Shocked and stunned he had to let the information sink in. Hornblower cleared his throat making him jump. Slowly he folded the papers and stuffed them neatly back into the worn packet.   
"I take it you and Mr. Kennedy have read these?"  
  
Horatio nodded his face even more grim then when he had first come aboard. Pellew stood up and paced. He had to find an answer to this whole mess that was fast becoming a nightmare. He knew he had lost his promotion now and that the Admiralty would start an immediate investigation of him, his ship, his crew, and Fiennes.  
  
"How could this happen!" he whispered in anger. "Why didn't I see this!"  
  
Horatio spoke softly. "It's not your fault sir."  
  
Pellew whirled around to face him. "Anything that happens on my ship and to my crew, is my fault Mr. Hornblower and you'd do well to remember that!"  
  
"Yes, sir," he replied with fear evident in his voice.   
  
Pellew sighed," I'm sorry Hornblower."  
  
Kennedy, who had remained quiet so far, stood up. "Sir, what is going to happen now?"  
  
Pellew closed his eyes, knowing all to well what was about to hit them. "Well Mr. Kennedy, I must inform the Admiralty. They will read these papers and cancel my promotion." At this Archie and Horatio exchanged questioning glances. "Yes, I was being promoted and given a ship of the line. Never the less, the Admiralty is very sensitive when it comes to spies, especially when they are the Captain's steward. They will most likely send either another captain or someone higher in rank to come aboard. Then the witch hunt will begin."  
  
"Witch hunt sir?" Horatio asked.  
  
Pellew opened his eyes and stared his officers in the face.  
"Yes. Usually where there is one spy, there are more. At least in the Admiralty's eyes. So gentlemen, as of now I suggest you get some rest. Because it will be the last good sleep you get for quite some time."  
  
Archie and Horatio nodded and saluted. Before closing the door Horatio gave him one last glimmer of hope. "Maybe this isn't as bad as it seems sir?"  
Pellew gave him a half smile. "Yes, maybe."  
  
But Pellew knew better. He had seen the Admiralty go too far before. This wouldn't be the first time he witnessed a witch-hunt and it wouldn't be the last.   
  
Early the next morning Pellew took to his grim task. All happened exactly as he knew it would. Admiral Hood canceled his promotion and informed Pellew to return to his ship. He also said someone would come aboard to start examining evidence. This someone was what worried him now. Who would they send? Would it be a friend or an enemy? Pellew waited impatiently on deck, pacing mercilessly back and forth. It was nearing dusk when the cry finally came out. "Rowboat starboard!"  
  
"This is it," Pellew thought silently. What would his fate be now? He could only wait.  
He watched as the boat came along side. It seemed all eyes were on the boat and it's passengers. Pellew prayed silently, "Dear God, let it be someone I know."  
  
His prayer was answered as the man, a captain, stepped onto the wooden deck of the Indy. Horror came upon Pellew instantly as he recognized the man. It was someone he knew all right.   
  
The broad arrogant grin of Captain Dreadnought Foster beamed up at him. "Ah my dear Captain Pellew! So nice to see you again!" he announced in mock comradely. Pellew wanted to die, right then and there. With a heavy sigh he thought," So it begins."

Dreadnought Foster swept into Pellew's cabin with a mocking grin. "So, Sir Edward, let's find out how your flunky pulled the wool over your eyes. I hear that he was something of a dimwit." Inhaling, Foster jut his jaw out and glared at Pellew. "Always suspect a man who is too stupid! Always! Always!"  
  
Foster strode to Pellew's table and pushed a few plates aside. "He didn't even clear off yesterday's lunch. He was too busy rifling through your papers."  
  
Pellew nodded, but did nothing more to interrupt Foster's soliloquy.  
  
"What kind of a ship do you run, Sir? How can you expect to trounce those Frenchies when your left-hand man is running a bazaar selling your dispatches?" Foster coughed noisily. "Dammed crying shame."  
  
"Sir--" Pellew was about to add "that is excessive," but thought better of it.  
  
"What's that, heh? Cat got your tongue as well as your correspondence? Har har!" Foster crowed, pushing the debris off the table. "I, sir, by order of the Admiralty, claim this cabin for the duration of the investigation. You, sir, by order of the Admiralty, are to remain on board. I trust that you can manage the logistics."  
  
"On board?" Pellew inquired, as tonelessly as possible. "Under guard?"  
  
"My dear captain," Foster swiveled in his seat to face him. "We are both gentlemen."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Here's a consolation for you," Foster continued, withdrawing a small packet from his pocket and tossing it on the table. "Letter from your wife."  
  
Pellew reached for it and almost opened, but the mocking gleam in Foster's eye halted him.  
  
"I thank you." Pellew bowed and made to withdraw, "Will you excuse me?"  
  
"Oh, that's not necessary. You'll find that it's quite short, and I'm willing to wait." Foster settled back into the chair and watched Pellew silently, gleefully.  
  
With deliberate slowness, Pellew opened the letter, which, unsealed, had been hastily folded. It was, as Foster said, quite short.  
  
  
My Dearest Edward,  
  
I have been these eight months without sight of you, and though your letters have been a great consolation to me as well as to our children, I cannot bear the thought of you coming ashore and then leaving. The Admiral, upon my inquiry, informed me that you would have but scant leave here at Portsmouth. So, please forgive my impudence in quitting our home and in engaging accommodations at the Mermaid Inn, where I   
  
hopefully awaiting your arrival, remain, &c,  
  
your loving wife.  
  
  
Pellew re-read the short paragraph several times, and heard Foster chuckle.

Lieutenant Kennedy lay back in his hammock as Hornblower continued to pace back and forth. Cramped in the small space, Hornblower kept bumping against Kennedy's hammock, interfering with its rocking motion caused by the roll of the ship.  
  
"Horatio, please..."  
  
"Sorry, Archie."  
  
Hornblower sat down, but was on his feet scarce seconds later.  
  
"Hornblower!"  
  
Surprised to find himself pacing, Hornblower glanced down at his feet. Archie laughed.  
  
"Why don't you go for a swim?"  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, Archie, but I am worried about this business."  
  
"Do you think that Dreadnought still holds a grudge about that beef? You saved his life afterwards, and he passed you on your exam, and I dare say he doesn't even remember it anymore. As long as we keep him well-fed."  
  
"No, it's Captain Pellew. He's not himself." Hornblower looked up at Kennedy and sighed. "I would rather not tell you this, and I probably shouldn't, but I can't drive it out of my mind..."  
  
"Horatio--" Kennedy propped himself up with his elbows. "If you musn't, then you musn't. If you must, then you must."  
  
Horatio smiled at his friend sadly. "It's probably a trifle, Archie. And I'm foolish to dwell upon it, and maybe it doesn't even have to do with Foster or the spy, but it sits so heavy--"  
  
"Tell you what, Horatio," Kennedy interjected, lying back down in his hammock, "I'll block my ears, and you can say whatever you like, only have a care that you don't say it too loud."   
  
Horatio nodded, and Kennedy plugged his ears with his fingers.  
  
"Archie...the captain...maybe he was depressed about getting the ship of the line, or maybe he's depressed that he didn't get it, although I think he enjoys being a frigate captain, so it would probably be the former, if anything..."  
  
"I can't hear you!" Kennedy sang.  
  
"...and I wasn't there when he met with Foster in his cabin--" Horatio paused, suddenly remembering that Captain Pellew was now occupying the lieutenant's cabin next door, which he, Hornblower, had offered him. He didn't know if Pellew was presently stationed there, but he knew that the walls were thin. Accordingly, he pitched his voice lower, without noticing Kennedy withdraw his fingers from his ears ever so slightly.  
  
"--but I was there when he came out, and I saw him, and he gave me an order and walked away, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except...and I'm not sure, the light was bad, but maybe he had..."  
  
Horatio paused for a few seconds, glancing at the wall that separated his (Kennedy's) cabin from Pellew's. He respected and admired his captain, indeed, Pellew was his model, and he knew, he hoped, something of his character. Pellew was proud of his ship and of his men, but he took little pride in himself beyond these subjects. Yet, he maintained a strict code of conduct as a captain, and part of this was disguising weakness. Horatio, for instance, had never heard him complain that he was hungry, except in jest or in praise of a meal set down before him. He had rarely heard him complain that he was fatigued--sometimes, Hornblower could see that his captain was weary (who wouldn't be, after thirty, forty hours with little or no sleep), but Pellew never alluded to it until after the task or trial was done, if at all. And Pellew had never, not even once, bemoaned his absence from his family. In fact, he rarely mentioned them at all, save briefly "Oh, a letter from my wife--". Hornblower had heard that Pellew had two sons serving in his Majesty's Navy, perhaps about his own age, but Pellew never talked about them.   
  
"I can't say for sure, maybe he was thinking of his family or his frigate," Horatio continued.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And the light was bad, so maybe what I did see wasn't really there, but I thought I saw tears in the captain's eyes. He wasn't crying--"  
  
"He wouldn't cry."   
  
Hornblower shot a glance at Kennedy, who shrugged apologetically.  
  
"He wouldn't want us to see him cry, that's for certain."

A rap on the cabin door startled Kennedy and Hornblower, bringing them to their feet.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Lieutenant Hornblower!" barked Pellew. Hornblower lunged for the door and flung it open. Kennedy swallowed and straightened, smoothing out his waistcoat.  
  
"Sir?" Hornblower inquired politely. Pellew handed him a small folded piece of paper.   
  
"Take a boat ashore and go to the Mermaid, where you will find Mrs. Pellew, deliver this and remain at her service. Is that understood?"  
  
"Aye, aye, Captain." Horatio nodded, relieved to see that Pellew's spirits were rejuvenated, or, at least, heartily aggravated.  
  
"And thank you again for the cabin, Lieutenant. It's much more to my convenience than bunking down with Bracegirdle. Upon your return to the ship, and you will return, you and Lieutenant Kennedy will have shore leave until tomorrow noon."  
  
"Thank-you, Captain."  
  
"No, thank-you, gentlemen." Pellew grinned and strode away, humming to himself.

Hornblower reached once more inside his chest packet - felt for the Captain's letter for what must have been the thirtieth time in the last twenty minutes, or so Styles noted with an understanding grin as the boat crew rowed him ever closer to the waiting docks. His ship was in turmoil - dear God, to be in the midst of a raging storm or in the heat of battle suited him better than this wallop of intrigue. And focused on his Captain, no less! It was impossible to imagine, and no doubt as to it being unbelievable. He would act as a character witness for the Captain himself, if he could. He had already told Archie so, as if Archie was not already well aware of Hornblower's devotion to his Captain. And now Pellew had trusted him to carry his letter to his wife, to Lady Pellew. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of meeting her.   
  
He had wondered often enough what she was like - the woman married to such a man as his Captain. He knew they had several children, not just two boys newly entered into the Navy. He had also heard through snippets of conversations overheard in the Officer's Mess - mostly nuggets gleaned from Bracegirdle - who had served with Pellew before he had been given the Indy - that his estate in Devon was impressive. Well, that stood to reason, given all of the prize money he had amassed in his career thus far. But an estate needed running, didn't it, and he had heard a few times that Lady Pellew was an indomitable force in her own right - a true match for her husband and fiercely independent and self sufficient in the managing of their lands, and most successfully, too. And within minutes he would be introduced to her. He gulped.  
  
The Mermaid was blessedly close to the waterside, so while the walk was quick, it was yet enough of a distance so as to give Hornblower the chance to rehearse his greeting. He only hoped he would not stutter.  
  
He announced himself to the innkeeper, and was told to wait in the foyer, while the man sent some young wait servant scurrying up the stairs. Shortly thereafter, a young woman in a pleasant but simple gown with a pleasing face came down the steps towards him. "Mr. Hornblower?" she inquired.  
  
He clicked his heels together. "My Lady," he began, "It is indeed an honor to make your acquaintance -" The woman held her hand out to stop him.  
  
She giggled softly and curtsied. "My dear Sir," she said, "I am Charlottle, I have come to take you to her Ladyship." She smiled at him. He blushed. Fiercely. What a fool I am, he thought. What a blithering idiot! As if Lady Pellew would just saunter down the steps and shake my hand. Oh, help.  
  
Charlotte knocked gently on the doorway and then with another curtsey ushered Hornblower into the room. "Mr. Hornblower, My Lady," she announced, and then took her leave.  
  
"Mr. Hornblower! You have no idea how glad I am to make your acquaintance!"   
  
She was stunning - there was no other word to describe her. She may have had six children, some already in their teens, but she was a beauty. Lustrous brown curls, wonderfully expressive brown eyes that crinkled at their corners, and slightly tanned skin as though she spent a fair amount of time outdoors as well, God love her. She offered her hand. Hornblower took it, with a slight bow. "My Lady," he murmured softly. "I am honored. I have a letter from your husband." And he handed her the note as she beckoned him to a small settee at the far end of the sitting room.   
  
"How is he, Mr. Hornblower? I have just taken tea with Lady Spencer, and she has told me some of what has happened - so dreadful! And so unfair! Surely they cannot think my husband could have employed this man deliberately - knowing he was a spy?" Her eyes pierced him with their intensity - good God it was like being stared at by the Captain - what a pair they were!  
  
"I could not agree more, My Lady. But, please, you must read his note."   
  
And so she did, as she told him to help himself to refreshment from the sideboard table.   
  
"My dearest Susanna,  
  
You cannot know the joy I felt on receiving your letter. No doubt in the time you have arrived you have managed to learn of the inquiry being conducted against me. My Love, I pray you do not worry yourself - you (and I) have nothing to fear and I feel certain that soon the truth will be discovered and all of this nonsense laid to rest. In the meantime, it seems that your friendship with Lady Hood may be of assistance to me, and to that end, and saying nothing of the fact that I long to hold you in my arms, I have asked Mr. Hornblower to attend you and to offer you escort to Indefatigable. I regret that we shall not have as much time together as I should long for, but surely a little is better than none at all?  
  
Your own,  
Edward"  
  
She looked up at Hornblower. "Well, my dear Sir," she said with resolve, "We have a ship to get to, do we not?"  
  


Lady Pellew felt her pulse quicken as they neared Indefatigable. It had been eight months since she had last seen her husband, and to see him now, under such trying circumstances as these did not ease her longing one bit.  
  
As they came alongside, Hornblower told her to remain seated and was about to call for the hoist, when Susanna stopped him.  
  
"That's not necessary, Mr. Hornblower. I am perfectly able to manage the sideladder," she smiled.  
  
"But, Ma'am, your cloak, your gown, are you s-sure -"  
  
"Quite sure! I'm not a dowager yet, Lieutenant, I'll have you know!"  
  
"Of course, My Lady!" Hornblower grinned back. Lord, but she was something!  
  
And fit, it seemed, for she hitched her skirts up with nimble ease and hiked her way up that ladder with such grace and finesse as neither Hornblower, nor any other member of the boat crew - who were staring intently, to a man, it must be noted, had ever recalled in their numerous years at sea, all told. And not a one of them saw anything they ought not to have seen in the process – a result that several of them would have said left them rather disappointed, truth be told, for God Almighty, the capting's lady was a looker, she was!  
  
Pellew had heard the boatcalls and rushed out to see her climbing aboard. She stepped onto the deck and came into his arms without a word between them. They embraced for quite some time, in silence. Hornblower had followed up behind her and saw that Pellew's eyes were closed, though his face had that tightness that Hornblower had glimpsed with such concern earlier in the day. He overheard Pellew murmur "My Love," and then saw as the Captain guided his Lady below decks.  
  
"I apologize, my dear, that I cannot offer you the comfort of my usual quarters," Pellew said as they came into Hornblower's tiny, cramped cabin. He doffed his hat and frock coat, setting them both on the small desk.  
  
"Not to worry, Edward, please," murmured Susanna, seeing the lines of strain in his face. "Just to see you is -"  
  
He came to her in a rush and held her close again.  
  
"my Love," she said, after a few seconds, loosening her cloak, "What has happened?"  
  
"Fiennes was a spy." He sighed. "I did not know it. For God's sake, Hood told me to take him on! If it were not for the fact that we were at sea I should have sacked him after the first week - the man was a dolt - didn't know a hot towel from a cold napkin." He turned away for a moment. "Because he wasn't a steward, of course, never was. Playing at it all the while. And I fell for it."  
  
"But, darling, if you fell for it, then that means that Hood fell for it!"  
  
Yes, dear, but no one knows that except for you, me and Hood. And if I speak out against him it is my word against his and in my situation now, I don't suppose as my word counts for much."  
  
Susanna sighed, and sat down, carefully, onto the cot. "Well, then, so they will investigate - as Foster is doing now. They will not be able to find anything!"  
  
"No….nothing legitimate. But, it's Foster, we're talking about, Susanna. The man is-"  
  
"Jealous. Insanely jealous of you, Edward."  
  
"Well, we were mids together. He expected to match me, rank for rank. Match me, what am I saying, he thought to have been made admiral by now!"  
  
"And yet you made Captain first." Edward nodded slowly. "And then," continued Susanna, "you had the audacity to get yourself knighted for bravery!" He smiled, and sat down beside her, letting out a long sigh.  
  
"So you understand that he will be in no hurry to confirm that he can find nothing. And from what I am told he has it in for Mr. Hornblower as well, sad to say," said Edward.  
  
"No!" cried Susanna. She brought her hand alongside her husband's cheek. "Well then, my dear, I should like to try and help you. You have already thought of it, have you not?"  
  
"Yes, I confess it. Lady Hood is your friend."  
  
"She does not have the relationship with her husband that you and I do, my Dear. I doubt she will be privy to much of what her husband knows. But I can try. Why would Hood want to prolong this anyways?"  
  
"That, my dear, is the question I cannot answer. They had offered me Impeteaux - did I tell you?" he nodded, at her raised eyebrows. "They did. You knew I would hesitate, and so they gave me 24 hours to decide. Now, of course, it is off the table."  
  
"And have they named a new Captain?" she asked.  
  
"Not that I know of. And yet they spoke of urgency in having her off to Plymouth to meet up with the rest of the squadron! But, I am not likely to be aware of any new information, being stuck here at present." He looked into her eyes. "Perhaps you could -"  
  
"Find out?" she answered playfully, her eyes dancing. "It will be my mission, sir!"  
  
He caught her up in a searching kiss. "My dearest," he said, covering her face and throat with kisses. She returned them with her own urgency, and set her hands to roaming down his front, stopping at each of the golden buttons on his weskit. "Is it true, darling," she murmured, between kisses, "that these cabin walls are thin as sandpaper?"   
  
"I'm afraid so, my Love," answered Edward, now breathless and flushed.   
  
"Well then," she whispered into his ear, "I suppose we shall have to be quiet…." And he lost himself in her arms.

Horatio was rudely awakened by the sound of someone pounding on his door. He stumbled out of the hammock. Forgetting he wasn't in his quarters, he slammed his toe into Archie's sea chest. "Ah Hell!" he screamed in pain, waking poor Archie immediately.   
  
"Horatio? Are you ok?" he asked still half asleep.   
  
"No I'm not!" he said loudly and hopped to the door and the persistent knocker. He bent down and held his throbbing toe as he opened the door. "Yes, what do you want!" he greeted angrily.  
  
Captain Foster stood in the doorway with a wicked smirk upon his face. Horatio instantly straightened and saluted him. "I-I'm sorry sir. I didn't know it was you. Please forgive me."  
  
Foster only laughed at the young man's apparent embarrassment, enjoying how his mere presence caused the man such distress. "If you please Mr. Hornblower, report to the captain's cabin." Slowly he eyed Horatio's ruffled appearance and grinned his evil grin. "Uh, as soon as you are properly dressed, that is." And with that he turned and walked down the hall, leaving Horatio totally humiliated. With a sigh he closed the door. Archie by this time had awakened enough to light a candle. It was still dark which meant it was very early in the morning.   
  
Quickly Horatio began throwing on his uniform. Archie only sat in his hammock and watched him. Finally he spoke. "What do you think Foster is up to?"  
  
Horatio was pulling his trousers on as he answered. "Well Archie, you weren't lucky enough to be here when the Indy rescued Captain Foster out of the sea. And you also lucked out not having him give you your lieutenant's exam."   
  
Archie frowned, remembering how he was locked away in Spain. "Excuse me Horatio, but I don't consider it lucky being in a Spanish prison. I would've traded places with you in an instant."  
  
Horatio paused with one pant leg on and realized what he had just said. "I'm sorry Archie. You are right. I didn't mean anything by that. It's just that Foster seems to have a vendetta against me. I guess I will find out for certain anyway."  
  
Archie watched as Horatio swung his other leg into the trousers and stood up, stuffing his shirt in. He tried in vain to press the wrinkles out of the material. "I take that back Horatio. I would never have wanted you in that prison. Nor would I have wanted you to experience what I did."  
  
With a smile he accepted the apology. "I know Archie. Now go back to sleep. There are still 2 hours till watch."  
  
Archie smiled and pulled his blanket over his head. "Put the light out when you leave," he chuckled. Horatio only shook his head and blew the candle out, leaving the room properly darkened for his friend.   
  
Shutting his door, he jumped at the sight of Captain Pellew coming out of the room next door. "I'm coming with you Mr. Hornblower." He said, answering Horatio's question before he even asked it. "Aye, aye sir."  
  
Foster sat at Pellew's desk, trying to make himself look as menacing as possible. He wanted to scare the tar out of Pellew's young upstart. He laughed to himself thinking of what must be racing through the scared youth's mind at this very minute. A knock on the door wiped the grin off his face. "Time to have some fun," he thought. "Come," he bellowed, doing his best Pellew impression.  
  
But his jaw hit the floor when he saw Pellew enter with the lieutenant. Quickly he recovered. "What on earth brings you here this early Sir Edward?"  
  
Pellew gave him a half grin, knowing full well what Foster was trying to do. "Well Captain," he said sarcastically," as the admiralty stated, I am entitled as the Captain of the Indefatigable to be present at every single interview you give. Unless you are questioning their orders sir?"  
  
Foster's face grew red with anger. "No Captain. You are quite correct. Please have a seat and we will begin." Pellew offered the seat to Hornblower, preferring to stand were he could keep a watchful eye on him.  
  
Foster stood and began pacing behind the desk. "Now lieutenant, I understand that you were the one who saw Fiennes stabbing, correct?" Horatio nodded, as he answered," Yes sir. I reached him just as he fell."  
  
A sly grin crossed Foster's face. "So Mr. Kennedy did not see this happen?"  
  
Horatio thought a moment. "No sir, he did not. The crowd was overwhelming and…"   
  
Foster cut him off with a wave of his hand and glared down at him from over the table.. "So you could have easily put those papers on Fiennes, putting the blame on him and off yourself!"  
  
Pellew roared to his defense," That is ludicrous!"  
  
Horatio sat stunned and could not believe that he was being accused.   
  
Foster roared back," He had plenty of time to do it and you know it! I intend to see Mr. Hornblower hang!"  
  
..Hornblower stared past Foster's left shoulder with a dead look in his eye. "SIR!" Captain Pellew roared, "you have accused one of my officers purely out of grudge! You have NO proof!"  
  
Foster tilted his head, as to crack his neck. "Careful Sir Edward, you must keep in mind that I am here TO investigate and I will prove that your lieutenant placed those papers on your serving dog." His voice was foal of an icy glee. Next he mumbled, "Real men, ones who don't take pride with little titles, don't have serving men,"  
  
Pellew eyed the hateful man. How dare he thought, how DARE he! But using the control he had adapted over the years, he simply said, "Sir, I trust that you will perform fair and perfectly legal investigation." Pellew leaned across the table, "Or else I could destroy you with a word," he let his voice end in a rasp.   
  
Foster looked up at the bigger man, "I will not take threats, go back to your quarters, Pellew. I'm questing Hornblower without his daddy here." Foster got up and opened PELLEW'S door. "Out, Papa!" Pellew watched in disbelief. He had to obey his superior, but what about his son, oh my god, he thought. I DO think Horatio as my son! Pellew looked at Hornblower who now held a look of dread in his almond colored eyes. "OUT!" Foster roared again.   
  
Pellew walked out. The wind hit his face with a sting he had not felt for a while. Winter was indeed coming. He turned slightly to glance into that window he had seen Kennedy and Hornblower in just a week or so again. Foster was looming atop Hornblower, surely making the lad scared. "Have heart, my lad, have courage. Be brave," he whispered every so softly. Inside his head the thought of be safe rang out as well.

Foster smiled with delight as Pellew left the room. Slowly he turned back to the frightened youth. He now paced behind him. "Now Mr. Hornblower, how long have you been a spy?"  
  
Horatio stammered and tried to speak. "I-I am not a spy, sir."  
  
"Really," Foster cooed, caressing his chin. "Prove it!" He pounced on Horatio like a lion on its prey.  
  
Horatio couldn't speak. He froze in fear. His mind racing as the panic welled up inside. This was his greatest fear come true. The sting of Captain Pellew leaving him tasted bitter in his mouth. He felt betrayed. How could Pellew just desert him like that! Did he believe he was a spy too!  
  
"Well boy! Answer me!" Foster growled, looming over him bigger than life.  
  
Pellew stood a moment longer on the deck of the Indy. The wind chilled him to the bone. But not as much as Foster's cold demeanor. "Dear God, what am I doing?" he prayed. Somehow Pellew had to put a stop to this. There was no way in hell he was going to let Hornblower be accused of spying. Pellew tightened his jaw and made his decision. The Admiralty be damned, along with Foster and his orders! This was HIS ship and he WAS the captain. If they wanted someone to hang, then it would be him, not one of his officers.   
  
Pellew had had enough. If Foster wanted to play, so be it. With rage in his eyes he stormed back to his cabin. Instinct took over as he reached his door.  
  
Pellew practically kicked the door down as he entered the room. Foster jumped in surprise. Horatio's face was ashen white with fear.  
"Out Edward! This is my…"   
  
Pellew didn't let him finish. "No. Go back to your quarters Mr. Hornblower," he said calmly.  
  
Pellew stood in front of Foster, ready to hit him if he had to. Horatio did as he was told, giving Pellew a quick glance as he left the men alone.  
  
Foster was ready to fight. "What's the meaning of this Edward," he hissed. "You have no right and no authority."  
  
Pellew narrowed his eyes. "This is my ship and I am the captain. The only way you will investigate anything on MY ship is if I am there. Is that understood?"  
  
Foster took a step closer, trying to intimidate the bigger man. " You know my orders and the Admiralty's orders. You must OBEY me."  
  
Pellew half smiled. "As I recall, you are only a Captain, like me. I obey the Admiralty. Now ease off on Hornblower!"   
  
Foster stepped back, allowing Pellew his small victory for the moment. "Very well Captain. But the admiralty will hear of this. Don't count Hornblower safe yet." He turned to leave.   
As he opened the door, Pellew stopped him. "Why are so damned set on killing his career. Did he or did he not safe your life at Gibraltar?"  
  
Foster glared at him. "Yes he did."  
  
"So why the witch hunt?"  
  
"None of your damn business!" he hissed and brushed past him out the door. Pellew sighed at the relief of his retreat. But something wasn't right. It didn't make sense for Foster to go after Hornblower like that. Most of the time he was an honorable man, most of the time.

"Sir..." Hornblower ventured into the cabin hesitantly. Foster, in his flight, had left the door swinging on its hinges. Pellew smiled at him ruefully.  
  
"Hornblower--I know you are innocent. And probably Foster does, too. Yet..." Pellew sat down at his table, leaning his head on his hand. "But why...dammit...blast it...not enough time to think, even, much less act..."  
  
Horatio, watching his captain muse, felt intrusive and obliged to leave--yet, at the same time, he felt compelled to stay, knowing that he was the subject of Pellew's thoughts. Thus torn, he wavered and swallowed.  
  
"No, stay, Hornblower," Captain Pellew interjected. "Shut the door and sit yourself down."  
  
Hornblower obeyed, Pellew continued. "Now, who knows how many minutes it will take for Dreadnought (though I care not for such overblown titles!) to pull himself together. Your future may be plucked from the furnace yet. But not by my hands. Lady Hood is a close friend of Lady Pellew."  
  
Remembering Lady Pellew, Horatio smiled involuntarily. Pellew shot him a faux-glare.  
  
"Confound it if it smacks of French Court politics, the women working the strings backstage, but I can't fire at Foster head-on. Not to save you, at any rate. But it will stall him."   
  
"Yes, I understand, sir."  
  
"Good. What I fail to comprehend is Foster's spite. In short, his first impressions of you were favourable, especially after you admired his reckless destruction of that supply ship--"  
  
"Admired--Sir--"  
  
Pellew chuckled. "Please don't take offence just yet, Lieutenant Hornblower. Foster leaves my ship, his shot heated more by me than by you, and then your courses collide over two sides of beef. Finally, you manage to light the man's fuse, just in time for him to foul you with the Lieutenant's examination, but that is fortunately curtailed by the fireship, which you both courageous board, and while aboard, you save his life. Which he subsequently acknowledges. And then your commission (though you did make a hash of your exam. Dismasted!) is confirmed. He and Captain Hammond had a duel, I believe, and maybe they had an argument over your results, too, I don't know. Perhaps Hammond was in your favour, and Foster was forced to conceed. Or perhaps he merely resents you for fishing him out of the fire ship. But I feel that there's something more. Foster is quick to fire, but his explosion is just as quick. It's not like him to fester."  
  
"Sir, if I may add...when I was in the boat, I overheard the argument between Foster and Hammond which led to the challenge. I must confess that their conduct left something to be desired. Perhaps Foster resents my witness?"  
  
Pellew shook his head. "There's got to be something more. Pray that Mrs.Pellew will manage to drag it up."

"I hope so, Sir," Hornblower nodded, remembering her keen brown eyes, so similar to the captain's, who routinely picked out rust and frayed lines, the most distand and faded of ships' colours and the smallest points of decay in dim light. If Lady Pellew could match her husband's powers of acuity, then both Pellew and he were safe.   
  
Pellew eased back in his chair. "Perhaps Susanna is right," he pondered, "maybe Foster is jealous. Of me. But what does this have to do with Horatio?"  
  
Hornblower, surprised at hearing such familiarity, shifted in his seat, causing a loud creak. Pellew was snapped out of his thoughts; he turned to face Hornblower, whose eyebrows were well raised by the two first names.  
  
"What do you gape at, Hornblower?" Pellew chided with a mixture of amusement and irritation.  
  
"S-S-Sir?"


	2. Part 2

Part 2 

**Part 2 **

"Sir, if I may add...when I was in the boat, I overheard the argument between Foster and Hammond which led to the challenge. I must confess that their conduct left something to be desired. Perhaps Foster resents my witness?"  
  
Pellew shook his head. "There's got to be something more. Pray that Mrs.Pellew will manage to drag it up."

"I hope so, Sir," Hornblower nodded, remembering her keen brown eyes, so similar to the captain's, who routinely picked out rust and frayed lines, the most distand and faded of ships' colours and the smallest points of decay in dim light. If Lady Pellew could match her husband's powers of acuity, then both Pellew and he were safe.   
  
Pellew eased back in his chair. "Perhaps Susanna is right," he pondered, "maybe Foster is jealous. Of me. But what does this have to do with Horatio?"  
  
Hornblower, surprised at hearing such familiarity, shifted in his seat, causing a loud creak. Pellew was snapped out of his thoughts; he turned to face Hornblower, whose eyebrows were well raised by the two first names.  
  
"What do you gape at, Hornblower?" Pellew chided with a mixture of amusement and irritation.  
  
"S-S-Sir?"

Susanna Pellew stirred her tea, slowly, waiting for a break in Lady Gertrude Hood's monotonous and eminently predictable accountings of her wastrel son and his nitwit wife, with all that they had given him, to have squandered everything, and turning then, inevitably to yet another teary account of her dearly beloved daughter's unfortunate demise in childbirth these past seven years. Susanna paused to ready herself for the coming remark, which never failed…  
  
"Like you, she was, Susanna, such a lovely creature," Gertrude looked back from the bay windows where she had been peering to look directly at Susanna. "Reminded me of you, my dear, have I mentioned this?" she pursed her faded lips so as to keep them from trembling and dabbed at them with her damask napkin.  
  
Only each and every time I see you, dear lady, thought Susanna to herself, and then reached over and gently clasped her wrinkled hand across the table. "You are so kind to think so, Gertrude." She smiled softly and saw that she had her chance. "And I am always so pleased to have an occasion to visit with you whenever I am in Portsmouth - even under such trying circumstances as now seem to-"  
  
"Oh now, don't you worry your lovely head about that, my dear," Gertrude piped in eagerly. "Alfred's not mentioned the details to me, God knows, but your husband, dear me, if there was ever anyone beyond reproach, it must be Edward Pellew. Such a man, a tribute to the service, you know, not like my Oliver, sorry to say, that philandering scoundrel - even tried to be an actor, did I tell you that? The horror! As if the baronetcy was not enough for him, then finally the service, and all of it a wash…disgrace to his father he is, to say nothing of my ancestry - oh dear, I've run off again, haven't I. Just seeing you, my dear, imagining that blossoming family of yours, that gallant husband of yours, your good fortune in having been so blessed." Gertude sighed.  
  
"We are, dear, indeed we are. And from what you know of my husband, why you can imagine his distress. His honour is at stake here, not just his command. And the reputation of Indefatigable, and its officers. And now dear Lieutenant Hornblower is targeted as well," said Susanna.  
  
  
"Hornblower? I seem to recall that name - do I recall that name? You know, I had to stop reading the gazette some months ago - my eyes you know - old age, my dear, the print is just too small for them nowadays, but he was gazetted not too long ago - a name like that, a busybody like me, why I never forget a name! My Welsh background, you know!"  
  
"Yes, it was him. The fire ship attack on Gibraltar - he was promoted afterwards. Such bravery! My husband sees great things for him, and, like Edward, he too is without any stain of dishonour -- why the very notion offends them both utterly, you must believe me."  
  
"Of course, my dear, of course. Go on, then."  
  
"Someone is either trying to frame them, or possibly set a trap for someone else," and here she paused, looking about to insure they were alone in the Hood's tastefully furnished sitting room. They were - no servants even, the maid having removed to go and refill the teapot. And how this gesture excited Gertrude - intrigue! She had long since lost interest in her husband's career, for all its glory, pomp and circumstance, as it was now utterly boringly and filled with complacency. Her husband had long since lost interest in sticking his neck out - except to make sure that it was still duly attached to both torso and head, and had likewise lost interest in explaining any of the Admiralty's goings on to her. And stories of maneuvres and battles could never be her cup of tea - though, make no mistake about it, she was immensely proud of dear old bewigged Alfred. But political intrigue - lo, that was something else entirely. She took the bait. "Who, my dear child? Who is it?"  
  
"Well, now that Captain Foster has stepped in-"  
  
"Foster, that noisome little windbag!!! Dear me, is it he who's got the reins of this now?" Gertrude bellowed.  
  
"Gertrude, you shock me!" cried Susanna, her hand to her mouth. "But, I confess, you are too, too funny! Yes, he is conducting the investigation - taken up lodging in Edward's cabin, no less! And Edward tells me that now he intends to hold Hornblower responsible for the espionage, as he was the one found the steward, mortally wounded with the dispatches in his possession. But it cannot hold up under scrutiny, for God's sake, this is all a mockery!"  
  
"So, then why is it happening? What is behind it, is that what you would like me to hustle up for you, my child? Lord, how I love to call a spade a spade!"  
  
"Dearest Gertrude, if you could find out anything, anything at all. Edward is held captive on board Indefatigable - he is not permitted to leave. Why, you may be our only chance of uncovering the reason for all of this," said Susanna.  
  
"And they've not appointed a new Captain to Impetueaux, you say?" Gertrude recalled, as Susanna nodded. "and Foster is happily scavengering his way through your dear Edward's quarters by now - leaving Dreadnought all to its own -" and then she paused. Wait a minute, she thought. Had not Alfred mentioned something about a disturbance on board Dreadnought? She recalled it because there had been such fury in his voice as she overheard him browbeating some unlucky mignon - the poor lad who'd had the misfortune to have been the messenger of such a notice. What had he said, something about Foster having had his comeuppance due him at last? Good God, that could be the key. Susanna was staring at her intensely, those huge brown eyes so filled with hope.  
  
"My dear, while I cannot tell you the details - twouldn't be proper, of course, I will say this. I think there may be two birds at play here - your Edward's ill-fated and turncoat steward, and something to do with the Dreadnought. I think Alfred needed to get Foster off his ship for a reason - a reason that Foster would not find to his liking if he knew it to be so."  
  
Susanna gasped. "Could it be?" she clasped her hands together.  
  
"Tell your dearest Edward that while this poppycock nonsense is troublesome, it may well be for the greater good of the service, and if he can bear to suffer it awhile longer, he may well end up assisting my Alfred in something else entirely." She placed her napkin on the table. "I will do my best Susanna. I will try to engage him in conversation on this - you never know, it may work. It will probably give him an apoplectic fit to find me so suddenly interested, or else perhaps it may actually get those smoldering coals that are left of our marriage a bit of a boost. He is a good man, you know, you do know that, don't you. He is just following the rules - protocol, my dear. Alfred never met a rule he didn't like."   
  
"Surely, my dear Gertrude, surely. And you do you remember that beloved saying of my Mother's don't you -where there's smoke…."   
  
"Yes, love, so it was. Indeed." Gertrude smiled at the memories. "Your Mother, my best friend she was."   
  
Susanna rose and went to embrace her shoulders. "I cannot thank you enough! If you could get word of any news you obtain to me at the Mermaid, I should be so grateful! I shall see you soon, promise!"

Two man-servants, quaking a bit under the butler's eye, gracefully presented Lord and Lady Hood with the desert, a pudding, and proceeded to spoon out two portions. Lord Hood nodded absently, and Lady Hood smiled benevolently, though she privately thought such deliberations were ridiculous without guests. It would be far simpler for someone to prepare two portions in the kitchen, requiring one servant, and not three. But, Lord Admiral Hood was a stickler for form even in his hours of leisure, and he had qualms about letting his servants go soft. He said that the Navy had given him an appreciation for routine and discipline. Sometimes, though, Gertrude wondered if he was rather more strict with the servants than with his captains.  
  
"Alfred--"  
  
Lord Hood glanced up, his spoon poised in front of his mouth. "Yes, my dear?"  
  
Gertrude sighed softly. "Oh, Alfred, I'm much distressed."  
  
"Good God, Gertrude," Lord Hood lay down his spoon with a clatter, "That--our son--what has he--"  
  
"No, no, it's not Oliver."  
  
"For once, it's not Oliver," Lord Hood grumbled.  
  
"I am having tea with his Margaret next Tuesday, just to remind you."  
  
"I offer my regrets; I will not be present."  
  
"No, of course not," Gertrude smiled. Admiral Hood was made out of iron and oak, and his daughter-in-law of nothing more substantial than a perfumed breeze, yet she had the courage and resolve to stand up against him. The two never saw eye to eye, though Hood once grudgingly admitted that "The hoyden has some brains in her box, but she flies them all at me, and then there's none left to manage her affairs." At any rate, the two usually conducted their interviews in anger and spite, and consequently, Hood avoided her save in larger company.  
  
Gertrude sighed again.   
  
"My dear, are you trying to be winsome?" Lord Hood winked at her.  
  
"Alfred, it's this dreadful business with that boy."  
  
"So it is Oliver."  
  
"No, it's--" Gertrude fished the rather unfortunate name out of her progidious Welsh memory--"Horatio Hornblower. He's a lieutenant, I believe."  
  
"Aye, with Pellew and the Indy. Brave lad, crawled aboard a fireship and steered her away from the harbor. Captain Charlie Hammond saw it with his own eyes, and pressed the Board to confirm Hornblower's commission."  
  
"Hammond's a good man, though a bit hot-tempered. I'm surprised that it wasn't Foster that addressed the Board, though. Lieutenant Hornblower saved his life."  
  
"Yes, well, my dear," Hood chuckled, "Foster can't keep track of everyone who pulls him out of the sauce. A brave man, but reckless."  
  
"Would you say that he's a good captain, Alfred?"  
  
Lord Hood paused, thinking of the business with the Dreadnought. The Impetueux was not the only ship plagued with discontent. Many of the ships in his squadron were filled with men who were too idle. There was the usual problem of mutiny, but other things were festering. That spy, for instance. A man on the Indefatigable, and not the Impetueux, but Hood had no doubts that there were at least twenty more hidden away in the Impetueux. He regretted very much the fact that he himself had recommended the spy for Pellew's employ. Where had that man come from? With such a favourable reputation? Lord Hood wracked his brains for Fiennes' provenance, but failed to remember. One of his subordinants would know.  
  
Thus relieved for the instant, Hood remembered Gertrude's question, and hauled his thoughts back to Captain Foster. Why had he thought of the Impetueux? Was it because her mutiny was more striking? Good knows what those men were up to now. But--the Dreadnought--ah, yes, the Dreadnought. Yes, there was some rancour simmering there, too. Rumour had it that, during a long bout of half-rations, Foster had seized two sides of beef off a plague ship, and that these were mainly reserved for the officers. The crew might have been appeased had they'd been served a more decent share, but the scraps that wound up on their wooden trenchers weren't half enough to distract them from the fact that they might be infected. Of course, the infection never struck, the plague, that is.  
  
"To answer your question, Gertrude, the man in many ways is a fine captain. He's brave and larger-than-life--he's quite the idol, you know, Dreadnought Foster, and maybe he runs his crew and ship a bit hard, and heaven help others in his grasp--he's sunk many a ship, but many a ship under him."  
  
"And the Dreadnought?"  
  
"Unfortunately, the man has no patience for details." Hood wiped his mouth clean with his napkin and turned to the butler, motioning to his empty plate. "A second helping--" The butler nodded. Hood addressed his wife once more, "But why are you so concerned about Foster, Gertrude?"  
  
"I'm not. But I wish he wasn't so venomous against poor Lieutenant Hornblower. Hardly a way to treat someone who's saved your life."  
  
Lord Admiral Hood leant forward, rising slightly off his seat. "Hardly a way--Gertrude--what is that Foster up to?"

Pellew paced the quarterdeck, more restless than usual. All this business of spies and mutiny left a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. How he longed to be on some mission out to sea with the wind pushing his beloved Indy to her next adventure. Lost in thought he didn't notice Kennedy's approach.   
  
"Captain Pellew, sir?" he spoke softly.  
  
Pellew almost didn't hear him. He turned and regarded the young man. Good god, Kennedy was as white as a ghost! "Are you well Mr. Kennedy?"  
  
Archie gave him a half smile, trying to reassure his captain as much as himself. "I am fine sir. But if I may, I need to ask you about Mr. Hornblower."  
  
Pellew gave him his full attention now.   
  
Nervously Archie fiddled with the buttons on his uniform as he spoke. "On the day Fiennes was killed, it just doesn't add up."  
  
Pellew's eyebrow shot in the air. "Please go on Mr. Kennedy."  
  
"Well, I was trying to follow Horatio, you know how tall he is." Archie was lost in his story as Pellew smiled to himself.  
"And Fiennes was just nowhere to be found. We had already accompanied him to several shops and ordered most of your list. He was really a nice fellow when not aboard the Indy. He hated to sail."  
  
"Was there a question you had Mr. Kennedy?" Pellew said getting a bit impatient.  
  
Archie caught himself and continued. "Sorry sir. Anyway, there was an incident in front of the Lamb. Someone tried to pick Fiennes pocket. I had almost forgotten this until yesterday when I saw Captain Foster and his two escorts. One of them was the one I saw that day sir."  
  
Pellew could not believe his ears. Was it possible that Foster had set this whole thing up? Why would he go such a thing? Did he want command of the Indy? Questions flooded his mind as he nodded his head.   
  
"Sir?" Archie asked, worried about the silence that engulfed his captain.  
  
"Is there any doubt in your mind, Mr. Kennedy, that it was Fosters man?"  
  
Archie swallowed, then straightened. "No sir, it was him. As he ran from Fiennes and Horatio, um Mr. Hornblower, he pushed me aside. I would recognize those dark eyes anywhere. Besides he also had a scar on his face similar to Captain Fosters."  
  
"Thank you Mr. Kennedy. Please don't tell anyone what you have just told me. Understood?"  
  
"Aye, aye sir!"  
  
Pellew regarded him once more. "Good job. You may have just saved my life, again."  
  
Archie saluted, leaving Pellew alone once again with his thoughts. "Now if only the rest of the pieces of this puzzle would fall into place. I need Susanna."

No sooner had Pellew finished that silent and prayerful utterance, when he heard the call of an approaching gig. He came quickly to the deck just as it came alongside - dear God, here she was! Goodness, he thought, I know I am a fair commander of frigates, perhaps, someday, a ship of the line, but I am no genie!   
  
She came up the ladder, slightly breathless, her face flushed with excitement. He swept her up into his strong arms. "You're here!" he cried.  
  
"Because YOU'RE here!" she answered with, smiling, and embraced him again.  
  
"No...it's...I just wished for you, just now, and then I heard the call -- for God's sake, I feel like Aladdin!"  
  
"Well, that's one wish successfully granted, then! Shall we try for the other two?" she asked playfully.  
  
"Susanna," he murmured sweeping her close to him, again.  
  
She drew back to gaze at him. "Oh, Edward, it is good to see you smile again."  
  
"Come,my Love," he said. "We should get below - I have news!"  
  
"As do I" she promised, her eyes bright.  
  
**********  
  
She reclined back against the wall, carefully, Lord but these cots were a devilish prospect to manage. Goodness! She sighed, trying to put all of these varying pieces together, as her husband paced the floor - or rather stepped once or twice and then repeated the maneuver - the closest thing to pacing in such a cramped space.   
  
"Foster's man? In the marketplace? Can it be?" she asked, her dark corkscrew curls sloping gently over her shoulders as she shook her head.  
  
"Kennedy gave me his word - I believe him, Susanna. Lord knows he is devoted to Horblower - they owe each other much - but he is an honest man, I know that. He is not saying this to protect Horatio - much as he might wish to - I believe it to be the truth."  
  
"Then, Foster, dear God, could he be at the heart of all this - this -"  
  
"I cannot say that," said Pellew. "I am not ready to say that. Not yet. Christ knows, the man is a gloryseeker, a pompous and reckless fool on too many occasions. But, treason? By God, treason! The man is still a captain in his majesty's navy. Would he sell his own mother down the river for glory, perhaps - but could he betray his country, his king? I cannot believe that. I am not prepared to believe that. He is a patriot - dear God, I pray he is at least still that."  
  
Susanna regarded him intently, pride filling her heart at how sacred he beheld his own honor. "I see. So, then, if it is not Foster - then somone or others around him, then, and that brings to mind what I learned from Gertrude, my love."  
  
"Yes," he stopped his pacing and turned to her. "You saw her - what did she say?"  
  
"She overheard Admiral Hood to say that there had been trouble on the Dreadnought. She thinks Hood may have needed a reason to get Foster off his ship, so as to investigate what was going on there. You, my dear, just happened to come along and provide him with the perfect opportunity, and the ship, to park him on, and not the Impetueaux, I might add, however infuriating this whole business has been for you, Edward."  
  
He nodded. "Yes, yes. That could be it, then. A ring of spies aboard the Dreadnought, perhaps. With Foster all unawares. Possibly...Possibly. Or is there still something more to this lurking out there somewhere? Something else at stake? But surely we must be getting close. Surely!"  
  
"We must be, Edward. And you must see to it that Hood is aware of this news from Mr. Kennedy! You must!"  
  
"Indeed," said Edward. "I shall write it up at once. Will you take it to him?  
  
"Of course," she nodded. "I am sure he will take a moment for me. If not, then Gertrude will see that he has it by this evening, at the latest."  
  
Pellew sat down at the small desk and wrote quickly, his hand swift and steady. Susanna came up behind the chair and softly embraced his shoulders as he sanded the page and set the seal. "Soon, darling, soon, and this shall all be behind us," she whispered.  
  
"I pray so, my dear, and that shall be another wish granted, then." He leaned back into her embrace.  
  
"And the last wish, then, what should you like that to be?"  
  
"Well, I was rather hoping, my dear," he said, "that that one could be the last wish" and he turned to face her, a wry smile creeping over his face.  
  
"I see," she said, playing along, with her eyebrows raised as she stroked his hair. "and so the second wish, then, may I take it you have something already in mind, Sir?"  
  
"I do, Madam, indeed I do."  
  
"And?" she prompted.  
  
"It is, of a rather personal nature, My Lady, if I may say so..."  
  
"Indeed, Sir?" she whispered, easing herself very gently into his lap. "Would it surprise you to learn that those are my favourite kind?"  
  
Edward drew his hand softly down her cheek and smiled. "Oh, how I hoped you would say so, my dearest."   
  
The streets of Portsmouth loomed dark in the dead of night. Not a soul was in sight as the wind blew cold through out. Not a soul that is except one. A lone figure shivered in the cold. He was barely visible in the darkened alley. Nervously he shifted his weight from foot to foot. At first glance he could easily have been taken for a tramp or thief. But upon closer inspection, his cloak revealed a naval uniform.   
  
Suddenly out of the black appeared another dark figure. Was it man or beast? The figure in the dark almost looked like the devil himself. With his gray cloak wrapped around him, he slowly made his way to the alley and the waiting man.   
  
"Are you alone?" the gray cloaked man hissed.  
  
"Do you see anyone standing here next to me!" the alley man spat back.  
  
The gray cloaked fellow opened his robe revealing a package.  
"Here," he grunted and shoved the object at the alley man. "Obey these last instructions and all will be well."  
  
The alley man protested," What do you mean all will be well! Will I get my ship back? Will Pellew be cleared of the charges! Answer me damn it!"  
  
The cloaked man only sneered. "Just do as you are told and you won't die. Unless you want to die. Then I will be happy to oblige."  
  
"No," the alley man whispered. "Get out of my face before I change my mind."  
  
The cloaked figure slowly disappeared in the night, leaving Captain Foster colder now than he had ever been in his life.   
  


"Captain Foster," Lord Hood faced his wife, waving at a servant to take away the second serving of pudding, "has a leak."  
  
"A leak, Alfred?"  
  
"A leak," Lord Hood intoned gravely.  
  
"I take it you mean Foster, and the Dreadnought."  
  
Lord Hood shook his head, collecting all of the facts--if one could call them that, though some of them were demned slippery--for an explanation. The affair was complicated, self-contradictory, and largely still-unlearnt, and it had apparently been years in the planning. Foster, with his usual bravado, had jumped into many a fray--this time, unwittingly, into a large, nefarious plot. Confronted at an Admiralty interview, conducted with much discretion, Foster had confessed to some of the irregularities of his ship's accounts--stores received from suspicious sources, a few men here and there hired in distant ports without past histories--his explanation was that he did what he had to do in a pinch. He appeared to be relieved to be airing the affair. Yet, Lord Hood suspected that Foster was withholding information. He did not mention this to the two other admirals present at the meeting, hoping that he could clear the matter up without compromising Foster publically.   
  
"Basically, Gertrude, Foster's had a run of bad luck. He's ordered to attack the French ship Mareschal, who is cruising a few miles off the coast, alone. Nobody knows about this, nobody knows that the Dreadnought is approaching. How could they? She hasn't put into port in nearly twelve months--we've been stocking her off-shore, in a specific spot, to avoid attracting attention. An idea of Lord Keith's, and, so far, it has worked. Dreadnought, thus concealed, has managed to surprise and capture a few French ship. Yet, she's within sight of the Mareschal, and there's company waiting for her. Chance? The same thing happens two months later. Blast my foul luck, Foster says, and restocks the Dreadnought, and takes her out for another spin, and again, foul luck for him. His quarry, the presumed idle and lonely 74-gun Victoire, is flanked by her friends."  
  
This gives us cause for concern, but of course, it takes months for news to reach us. So, we send a frigate down with alternate orders, expecting that Foster has been blown to bits by now, for it's patently obvious that he has a leak, but we find that, no, he's been successful, and there's two sweet French prizes, a supply ship and a frigate, nearing an English port, and he's apparently plugged up the leak, if it existed.  
  
Alas, neither French prize ever reaches port--they disappear. This causes some consternation. And then, another one of his Majesty's ships runs into foul luck. Captain Willis meets a bad end, surprised by two french 74s. And then, another, Captain Blake. So, it's obvious that our information is no longer trustworthy, and we dissolve the scheme.  
  
Meanwhile, Captain Foster is sailing quite well, despite the loss of his prize crews, over a hundred and fifty men for the two prizes and an additional third, a frigate, Puissance. Not to mention his losses from the exchanges, though these numbers are rather low. He has taken a few men, but very few. At the same time, however, his stores have been depleted more than one would expect. I follow my suspicions, and order a reckoning of his crew, and we find that--with much wriggling about, you know what I mean, Gertrude, a few men who should have, by all accounts, gone down with the French prizes they reportedly boarded as prize crews. To find them safe and sound on the Dreadnought's deck was rather puzzling.  
  
Naturally, this is rather unusual, and Foster, pressed for an explanation, said that the accounts weren't all cleared up due to the urgency of the matter, some men went on the prizes that weren't accounted for, and vice versa.  
  
We press him for reports, and he begs for a day, to write them up--he had sketched the details, and he showed us these brief entries, but he hasn't had the time to write them up, not since his chase and successful capture of the French frigate, the Puissance. She arrives in Portsmouth, two days later, with her prize crew and some French prisoners--not many, for their losses were great, and we examine her, and all is well. The crew is returned to the Dreadnought.  
  
And then, it becomes clear that there are more men than accounted for. Not many more, but a few. Foster claims that he didn't have time to keep better track, they were all horribly fatigued and distracted, etc, etc."  
  
Gertrude leant forward, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, this is most interesting. Do you know where they came from, Alfred?"  
  
Lord Hood shook his head. "And there are discrepancies with the supply accounts, too. Small things, but puzzling. It may all be coincidence, yet, and certainly, the Admiralty has been satisfied with Foster's explanations, and yes, it is hard to keep clear books when shot and blood and limbs are flying about--pray, excuse me, Gertrude--"  
  
"Of course, Alfred."  
  
"But I am not satisfied, and that's why I have discreetly taken Foster off his ship. For the time being."

Night was falling aboard the Indy and all seemed well. But Pellew had a feeling, a bad feeling. He couldn't explain it but something was not quite right. With dinner over he made his way to the quarterdeck and some peace and quiet. Slowly he paced behind the helm. Back and forth, his mind engaged the whole time. This whole business with Foster and Fiennes weighed heavy on his mind. Over and over he tried to relive all the time he spent with Fiennes. Going back there was never a moment or incident that would lead him to believe Fiennes was a spy. Which lead him to think those papers were planted on the man before he was killed. That was the only explanation. Pellew refused to believe his steward, ever how much he disliked him, was a spy.   
  
And now this business with Foster going after Hornblower didn't quite fit. It was as if he was doing it to throw him off track. Maybe that was it. Someone was getting to close to the truth so Foster had to make a distraction. "Quite a story." Pellew thought to himself. But who would believe such a thing? Foster being such a decorated and brave Captain. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by shouting from the foc'sle. "Boats to starboard!"  
  
Men raced on deck from everywhere. Pellew strained in the darkness to see the foc'sle and what was going on. Foster materialized by his side. "What is this Captain Pellew?"  
  
Pellew only half acknowledged his presence. "You know as much as I."  
  
Out of the dimness, Pellew gasped in horror. "We're being boarded!"  
Foster too witnessed the men that were now pouring over the sides, invading the Indy.   
"All hands to stations! Fend off those men!" Pellew shouted.  
Swords clashed together as the crew fought the new threat.   
  
"Who in God's name is boarding us!" Pellew barked. Foster stood stunned next to him. "It can't be," he whispered in recognition.  
  
Pellew peered through the mob of men, that's when he noticed the uniforms. They had on English naval uniforms. Pellew whirled on Foster in anger, grabbing him by the collar. "What have you done! Those are your men aren't they!"  
  
Foster babbled," It wasn't suppose to happen like this."  
  
Pellew shoved him aside, disgusted at the sight of him. "Well no mutinous dogs are going to take over my ship!" he growled as he pulled his sword out to defend the approaching mob.  
  
They seemed to be everywhere, as the quarterdeck was swamped. Pellew fought off one after another. Suddenly Horatio was at his side. Pellew almost mistook him for one of the others. "Good to see you sir!" he said in between swings of his own sword.   
  
Pellew thrust his weapon through the man in front of him. "Report Hornblower!"  
  
Taking a defensive position next to his captain Horatio quickly spilled out the grim details. "Foc'sle is entirely over run by these mutineers sir. Midships is the main battle. Kennedy is there now holding his ground."  
  
Pellew watched as Horatio took out the last of the scoundrels on his quarterdeck, at least for the moment. "Well Hornblower, now that we have the helm again, get back to Mr. Kennedy."  
  
"Aye sir."  
  
Pellew rested on his sword, trying to catch his breath. It had been some time since his last hand to hand battle. A noise from behind caught him off guard as he turned to see a man lunging at him. Pellew watched helplessly as the man's sword was about to tear into his side. That's when Foster reappeared. With one swing he cut the man in half. Pellew stared in horror as the man withered in agony.   
  
Looking back at Foster, Pellew sighed," Thank you."  
  
Foster stood next to the man, seemingly frozen in place. "He was one of my midshipmen," he said simply.  
  
Pellew looked up from the bloody mess and thought he saw a tear in Foster's eye.

Horatio raced back to the main mast, where he had left Archie. Fighting his way through, he suddenly caught glimpse of him. "No!" he screamed as he watched Archie fall to the deck. Like a madman he hacked mercilessly through the crowd, trying to reach his friend. Finally he spotted Styles, who was creating his own bloodbath. "Styles! Over here!" Quickly the two men were at Archie's side. Styles pulled Mathews and Oldroyd out of the mess and over to Horatio. Kneeling next to his fallen comrade, Horatio gently shook him. Blood seemed to poor out from everywhere. "God Archie, why did you have to try and be a hero." Without thinking he scooped him up and headed for the quarterdeck. "Styles! This is a lost cause, fall back to the helm!"  
  
"Aye sir," Styles called after him. They made their way to the railing. But to Horatio's shock, the quarterdeck had fallen.   
  
Pellew and Foster stood in the corner, fighting for their lives. Attack after attack swept over them. But they had managed to hold them off when suddenly they stopped. A lone figure stepped out from the men holding their swords all drenched in blood, the crew of the Indy's blood. The figure held up his hands, signally for his men to hold. Foster instantly knew him. Knew him from a cold night in Portsmouth. In fact the figure still wore the gray cloak, only now it was stained with blood.  
  
"Collins. I should have known better!" Foster spat. The cloaked figure smiled ruefully at him. "Ah my dear Captain Foster. Good to see you again sir. But if you please, I must ask for your surrender."  
  
Pellew growled," You will have no surrender from me, you cowardly b@stard!"  
  
Collins only laughed as Foster took a step toward him. "Very well, we surrender."  
  
Pellew grabbed Foster by the shoulder. "What are you doing!"  
Foster looked him in the eye as he spoke. "Edward, this is no time to die. To continue fighting will mean the death of every man aboard." He lowered his voice as he finished speaking. "That also includes Hornblower."  
  
Pellew released him and only nodded.   
  
Collins quickly snatched up the captains' swords. "Now if you please Captain Pellew, order your men to stand down."  
  
Pellew did as he was told. "Who is this dog?" he asked Foster.  
  
With hatred in his voice Foster replied," Anthony Collins, my first officer."

Lady Hood, suddenly noticing that she could not see her husband very well in the deepening gloom, beckoned a servant to her side. The dinner service had already been cleared away, without Lord or Lady Hood's ever realising it, counter to usual custom. After dessert, the servants would bear away the platters, and Lord Hood would retire to his study, and Lady Hood to her dressing room. This night, however, two hours past desert, Lord and Lady Hood still sat at the table, sifting the affair of the Dreadnought. The servants, made uneasy by this irregularity, stood congregated at one end of the dining room, exchanging questioning glances.  
  
"More candles, Thompson."  
  
Thompson thus dispatched, Gertrude turned to Alfred. "So, who's in command of the Dreadnought now?"  
  
Lord Hood instantly purpled. "Blast it, confound me--a thousand pardons, Gertrude--I have not the head I once had--"  
  
"Calm down, Alfred," Gertrude murmured.  
  
"I left his first lieutenant, Anthony Collins, in command."  
  
"And is he cause for such temper?"  
  
"Not directly, no, but he's put to mind that I've muddled the tale completely. Some Admiral I am!"  
  
"Alfred--"  
  
Lord Hood cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "What did I say Foster's prizes were? A ship of the line, and then a supply ship, and another frigate, Puissance?"  
  
"I do believe that the first was rather a frigate," Gertrude replied, fanning herself with some satisfaction.   
  
"Well, she ain't. There's my muddle. Foster captured a ship of the line--stroke of good luck there, and her name was, oh, wait, let me see--L'Égalité...I think. Or Fraternité--something off one of their dxmned--pardon, Gertrude--mottos."  
  
"So, a larger ship, and not a frigate, hmm?"  
  
Thumping the table with his fist, Lord Hood rose out of his chair.  
  
"This is where Anthony Collins comes in. Foster appoints him acting-captain of this ship, L'Égalité, and then she disappears. Our spies hear nothing. And then, eight months later, another French ship is captured, Impetueux, an easy task, for she is under-manned at the time and they made a few blunders, and then at least four score of English prisoners are found in her hold, including Collins."   
  
"So, the Impetueux must have shot down his other ship, and picked him up from the wreckage."  
  
"No, Gertrude, there is no other ship. I am certain that L'Égalité and the Impetueux are the same."  
  
"Indeed," she breathed.  
  
"The prisonners all have the same story, their ship was captured by a boarding party, and then the French locked them up ashore and then returned them to the ship. We kept them on the Impetueux, with Collins as first lieutenant--no, second, someone else was senior, but then there were those stirrings of mutiny, and Foster, perhaps fearing for his old lieutenant, requested Collins's transfer. And there it is."  
  
"So Anthony Collins is on the Dreadnought now--"  
  
A few muffled booms rang out. Lady Hood gasped, Lord Hood leapt out of his chair with surprisingly youthful agility, and over to the window, Lady Hood trailing after him. The view of the harbour was, unfortunately, blocked.  
  
"They're firing, blast it!" Lord Hood, snarled, whipping his hand out at the mass of servants edging towards the window, "A horse, a carriage, my cloak, you dogs!" The servants scattered, tripping over themselves in their haste. "Handsomely, you lubbers," Lord Hood roared, dashing after them, "They're firing at my ships!"  
  
Gertrude, picking up her skirts, trotted after him to the main entrance, and commanded a second carriage, to take her to the Mermaid.  
  
  
-------------------  
  
Susanna Pellew grabbed her cloak and dashed out of the Mermaid. There was a crowd collecting, moving towards the harbour with the jocular manner of sightseers.  
  
"We'll blast them Frogs through and through!--Watch 'em scurry back to their pond--What sport--What's all that noise--this ain't nothing to the Massacre of Amboyna, I was there--"  
  
"Please," Susanna cried, elbowing her way through the thicket of people, "what's happening?"  
  
At that, she was offered a variety of conflicting opinions, the French, the Spanish, those blxxdy Colonists--muttering a stream of thanks and pardons, she put her head down and thrust her way through until she saw the sea glistening with spurts of flame. As she approached the harbour, the yelling and the gun and cannon-fire grew to a deafening pitch; she redoubled her efforts, set her jaw, and with a vicious burst, forced her way to the water's side, onto one of the docks. Out in the mouth of the harbour, where the ships of the fleet were anchored, Susanna noticed that most of them were congretating, firing at one ship in particular which seemed to be sailing away. The watermen and women below were chattering excitedly in a tight knit of boats and punts. Susanna yelled at the closest one.  
  
"They're firing at a French ship, Ma'am," the waterman replied, pointing a gnarled hand towards the scene of the tempest. "She tried to edge in, but they caught wind of her, see how she slinks away--so they'll be sinking her--Curse her! Cripple her!"  
  
Susanna peered closer, and her blood ran cold. Without a second's hesitation, she gathered up her skirts and cloak with one hand, and with the other, grabbed onto the side of the dock to guide her leap into a boat directly beside. The nearer oarsman whipped about, startled.  
  
"Hey, Ma'am--what's this--"  
  
Susanna withdrew her purse and flung it at him. "They're firing at my husband, Captain Pellew, d'you hear? Row or I'll throttle you! Row!"

The hapless oarsman gawked at her.  
  
"ROW? Are ye' mad? Into that bloody bus'ness? Y've got a death wish, you 'ave, Miss, and I'm not 'avin' none of it!"  
  
"Of course you'll have it, you're a boatman, this is a boat, this is YOUR boat, you bloody idiot, and this is obviously what you do for a living, now GET ON with it!"  
  
"I runs a respec'able bus'ness I does, M'um, and it don't involve sailin' right smack into a bleedin' bloodbath….not fer me usual price, not no way an not no how!"  
  
"So it's money, then, is it, fine! Name your price, you blackguard!" Susanna screamed. "Can you do that and row at the same time, or are the two activities not simultaneously performable with a brain allotment such as yours? Hmmm?"   
  
"Now 'old on there, 'old on, there's no need to be gettin' all personal like, M'um, I'll take ya, I'll take -"  
  
"LADY PELLEW!" a loud voice boomed out over the fray. "For God's sake Madam, what on Earth do you think you're doing?"  
  
Susanna wheeled around, very nearly upsetting the poor little skiff. "Admiral Hood!" She blanched.  
  
"Get back on that dock this instant! Holy Mother of God, this is no place for you, Madam!" Hood bellowed, trying nervously to make his way to the forefront and get seated in his own gig.   
  
"They are firing on Indefatigable, Sir! Surely you can see that! My husband is on board, you know it the same as me! He could be injured, my God he could be - " She looked across her in the boat. Her pathetic little commander was frozen in place, dumbstruck in the sight of the Admiral's gig coming alongside him. For God's sake, thought Susanna, what IS it with some of the men in this world? A blazingly simple task, get me from here to there, the urgency and the rationale for it plain as the noses on all their faces and yet they stare at me like I'm an apparition! That does it, she thought, and just as the Admiral's boat collided into hers, and with one graceful sidestep maneuver she retrieved her reticule and hoisted her skirts and jumped aboard the Admiral's gig, and took her place beside Lord Hood, sidling up beside him as if it was the most natural place for her to be. The Admiral's crew gaped at her, their oars at a standstill, not knowing what to make of this unexpected cargo.   
  
"My Lady you cannot be serious!" cried Hood. "This is preposterous! You are a woman! They are exchanging gunfire out there! I mean to put a stop to it but I'll not see you endangered!"   
  
"Well, you are stuck with me, Sir, and there's an end to it. You are not endangering me, I am endangering myself. My husband is on that ship and that is where I need to be. Now are these men of yours going to get the business ends of those oars into the water where they belong or not, Sir?"  
  
Hood's mind was awhirl. Dear God!! What on earth had possessed her? Was she mad? This was no stroll through the park, this was, unbelievably, smack in the middle of Portsmouth harbour, a battle!!! He managed to suppress his gentlemanly concerns and allowed the Admiral inside him to assume command. He needed to get to the bottom of this mess and needed to do it now. He would get himself on board the closest frigate, sort it from there and have Sir Edward's firebrand of a wife sent back to shore, muzzled if need be! "Pull!" he shouted, "Lively now, men, "Pull!"   
  
And Susanna nodded her head. Finally, they were getting somewhere!  
  
"You must be seated, my Lady," he said. "And for God's sake, pull your cloak over your head. If any of these Captains see me casting about with a woman on board, by God, I'll have to resign my post, I will." He shook his head. "And keep your head down, those aren't blanks they're firing, I'll have you know!"  
  
"I am aware of that, my Lord," muttered Susanna, and very nearly thought of offering his Lordship the pistol she carried in her reticule - just in case. She wasn't just a fine horsewoman, God knew she could race the pants off Sir Edward on a regular basis when he was at home, and did so, to her inexhaustible glee and his good natured sportsmanship - riding is not my forte, Madam, you must forgive me that, he had told her only on in their courtship. No, she was a fine shot as well, she was. Even though she traveled with her own carriage and coachman, she was known to traipse through the west hundred of their estate quite often alone, with just her faithful steed and her beloved retriever for companionship. Sir Edward didn't approve so much as he had resigned himself to the fact that some things were inevitable when it came to his indomitable wife. At least she could defend herself if need be.   
  
She noticed that they were pulling for one of the ships that had engaged the Indy - they were nearly well enough behind it now to be seen by them - the Admiral's ensign proclaiming them to the crew on board. While part of her was pleased to be behind the line of fire, so to speak, this was the wrong ship, was it not?  
  
"What are you doing, my Lord?" she cried, "this is not Indefatigable!"  
  
"The Indefatigable is trying to pull away - we'll never reach her before she's well out of harbour or sunk - er - sorry, M'am. We'll get on board the Arethusa and find out why in God's name we have been firing on our OWN ship!"

Horatio had heard Pellew's voice call out the order to surrender, but he couldn't believe his ears. Styles echoed these same thoughts. "Did he say to surrender sir?"  
  
Horatio blinked, not wanting to believe it. Before he could answer, they were spotted. The mutineers were upon them. With sword in hand, Horatio and his men continued the fight. But the odds and men were against them. They couldn't stay on deck. "Styles, we have to get below!"   
  
"Aye sir," Styles answered and herded Oldroyd in that direction. Just as they made their way below, the sound of cannon fire erupted above them. "Are we under fire?"  
  
Mathews shook his head grimly. "Must be the fleet. Figured out bout the mutiny by now."  
  
Horatio agreed as he led them through the maze of rooms. "Well what would you think if gunfire came from a ship at dark and then started to sail away?"  
  
Styles still carried the unconscious body of Archie Kennedy. "Can we rest a minute sir?" he asked worn out from the extra weight on his shoulders.   
  
"We're almost there Styles," Horatio answered, as he opened a door to the hold. "This is the best place I can think of for now."  
  
Mathews helped Styles place Archie in a comfortable position. Horatio knelt next to his friend and tended to his wounds. Slowly he peeled off his blood soaked jacket.

Shall I fetch Hepplewhite, Sir" asked Matthews, panting for breath.   
  
"If you can find him, yes!" Hornblower stripped off Archie's coat. The blood seemed to be everywhere. Frantically, he searched for the wound. "My God, Archie!"  
  



	3. Part 3

Part 3

**Part 3**

************  
  
  
"For God's sake, Mr. Collins, this is madness, you must see that!" Pellew's shoulders jerked up suddenly, as one of Collins' lackeys yanked his arms behind him and tied a rope around his wrists, looping it down towards Foster, around his wrists as well then and lashing the both of them back against the rail.   
  
Collins kept his pistol raised on the pair of them, smiling proudly now, certain he had the upper hand. "I don't see that you are in any position to be advising me further, Captain," he sneered. The lackey stepped back, and Collins nodded. "There, that'll keep you in sight of the fleet - we'll see them try to fire on us now when their two finest captains are side by side on the quarterdeck, eh?….You," he motioned to one of his men, "get a couple of lanterns rigged here - I want them all to see their Captains, make sure they know what's what!"   
  
"Lanterns, that is suicide, sir!!" cried Mr. Bowles, his arms still raised. "We are being fired upon sir! If they get knocked down we'll go up in a flash!" The man paused, his eyebrows raised, and looked at Collins with a shrug.   
  
"Do as I say, you idiot!" Collins screamed at him, kicking him cruelly in the shins, brandishing his pistol. "And tie him up!" Collins yelled, motioning to Bowles. "By the wheel…..And him, too," he said, waving his pistol towards Mr. Bracegirdle, frozen in place at the other end of the quarterdeck. "But make it look natural, got that?"   
  
Pellew was panting, all cylinders on full power and trying to assess this fiend who stood before him, and his mish mash band of would be mutineers. They did not seem at all harmonious, Pellew noted, indeed they did not appear to even like this man Collins, let alone admire him. Had they been coerced as well? He cast a firm glance to Bracegirdle, who nodded once discreetly, his mouth set in a firm straight line. At the same time Pellew tried to anticipate the next actions of the approaching fleet. They would most likely guess it was a mutiny, and thus try to disable the Indy rather than sink her outright. In the dark and caught off guard, their cannon fire had Collins merely amused. Trouble was, given the state of his still battered frigate, once they got closer and their shots told, what then? And Foster, for God's sake what was up with him? Ever the feisty tempter of fate, he now swayed slightly, fuming, his head hung down. Enraged. Ashamed.  
  
"Please, Mr. Collins, you must see reason here. This cannot succeed! We came into Portsmouth for repairs!! They were not completed, thanks to you and this dastardly business, some of them were not even begun! We won't last! We are outnumbered and limping our way to certain destruction!"  
  
"He's right, Collins." Thank God, thought Pellew. It was Foster. His voice was shattered and furious at the same instant, that of a man whose world is about to crashland in front of his very eyes and he is unsure whether to defy it or to allow it. Pellew nudged him in a gesture of comradery, tried to look at him, but the ropes held him at such an angle so that he could not. He turned his back fully against the rail, brought his wrists up against the splintered edge. With all the subtlety he had, and it was a fair amount, he began to slide the ropes against the rough edge.   
  
Anthony Collins sweated profusely, despite the chill in the crisp night air. He jerked his head in a gesture of defiance, he would not let them see him wipe his brow, that was for sure. "We are not going far, rest assured, my Captains. We have a rendezvous arranged, you may be sure of that. And from there, why then you shall all finally have the opportunity of some French hospitality." Collins chuckled and quickly glanced to see that Bracegirdle was now secured. He smiled nervously, and wished his eye would stop twitching. "You in particular, Captain Foster. I am sure you will find it most welcoming!" He glanced back over his shoulder.  
  
Suddenly Foster reared up out of nowhere and raged out at him, "BY GOD, I'll see you hang, you traitorous DOG!!!" he screamed in fury. "Kick the plank myself, I'll -" trying desperately to lunge out at him.  
  
Collins wheeled around in crazed fury with his pistol, already cocked, his eyes gleaming in with terrifying madness, "YOU!! Enough of you!! ENOUGH!!! You thieving b@stard!! Call yourself an officer!!! You gave me no choice, no choice, do you SEE THAT?????" He fired.  
  
"No!" cried Pellew, and tore his wrists loose from the lashing barely in time to turn and push Foster to his knees, as a searing flash of heat tore through his shoulder. Pellew gasped, and fell limply upon his fellow captain.

"You murderous--" Foster choked in his rage--"fetch the doctor. The doctor!" he shrieked, trying to prevent Pellew from falling to the deck. His arms tied, he leant backwards and bent his knees as much as his bonds would allow, but Pellew slid off and collapsed, unconscious, or at least, stunned.  
  
Collins, his face breaking out in a new sweat, tossed his pistol away. Foster clenched his teeth and shot glares at the nearby mutineers.  
  
"Get the doctor!" Mr. Bowles shouted, struggling against his bonds. Collins whipped a furious glare at him, and motioned to a nearby mutineer with a savage sweep of his arm. The mutineer nodded, and clubbed Bowles on the head, sending him unconcious. Bracegirdle, pinioned an arm's breadth away, inhaled and clamped his mouth shut.   
  
"Can't you see that this man needs the doctor? You, there--yes, you, you great gaping booby, go get the doctor! Quickly!"  
  
The man thus addressed by Foster wavered on his feet, his gaze flickering from Collins and Foster.   
  
"Stand your ground, man," Collins snapped. He withdrew his other pistol from his belt and waved it at the mutineers. "All of you, stand your ground, and it will go well."  
  
A shot struck a split second later, raining splinters and shrapnel onto the quarterdeck. Collins bent down, shielding his face with his arms. The mutineers scattered. Foster screamed "Collins, have a heart, get the doctor!" Blinking, Collins jut his jaw out and screamed after his fleeing mutineers, obviously trying to reclaim his composure.  
  
Glancing down at his feet, where Captain Pellew lay, Foster noticed his eyelids flicker. Another shot hit home, shattering the rail about two meters away from Foster. Collins crouched reflexively. Pellew moved his hand, ever so slightly, his eyelids twitching again.  
  
"They're blowing us to smithereens!" Foster shrieked again, "Smithereens," his voice careened up an octave. "Tiny chunks of flesh and sinew," he stole a glance at Captain Pellew, who was once again laying still. "We're naught but purée now, Collins!"  
  
Collins winced at the sound of more splintering, too panicked to notice that it was further away. Foster grinned.  
  
"See you in Hxll, you whxreson!"  
  
Collins bolted off the quarterdeck, missing the last few rungs of the ladder and stumbling in his flight.  
  
"Your ship, Pellew!" Foster shouted as Pellew opened his eyes.   
  
With halting movements, Pellew drew himself up, his right hand fumbling about for the knife he wore in his belt. His white waistcoat bore a great streak of red on the upper left side.   
  
"The wheel, dxmmit! Save your ship first!"  
  
Pellew shook his head and smiled.  
  
"Foster, they're only crippling her." Withdrawing his knife, Pellew began to saw at the ropes binding Foster's wrists. "Mr. Bracegirdle," he called out, his voice slightly wavering.  
  
"Sir, they aren't shooting into the hull."  
  
"And you're still in one piece. Good, very good."

Foster's wrists came free, and he wheeled around quickly just as Pellew gasped with pain and reached for his shoulder, leaning against the rail. "We must get you below, c'mon man!" he urged.  
  
"No," said Pellew, "it'll wait…..Where….is Mr. Collins?" He glanced toward the maindeck.   
  
"Down there, Sir," cried Mr. Bracegirdle, trying earnestly to dislodge his wrists. "Mr Cleveland must have been awaiting him, and his mates, he's got them all cornered over there, Sir, by the marines!"  
  
"Thank God," murmured Pellew, trying to stay upright, as Foster hurried over to free Bracegirdle and then Bowles, dashing a bucket of water over the poor man to try and rouse him. Another shot rang out, a near miss to the main mast; then it splashed somewhere below them. Foster scurried to the wheel to try and bring the Indy around. The quarterdeck was covered with splintered wood and fallen masts, sails. Once released Bracegirdle sprang into action like a released coil, and hurried to his Captain's side. "Sir, you're blee-"  
  
"Signal that ship to cease fire - can you tell which one it is?" Pellew queried. "The moonlight is fair enough, but all this smoke.. I can't make her out -"  
  
"Nor I, Sir," answered Bracegirdle. "Will they be able to see the signal Sir? In this haze -"  
  
"Then surrender - we'll need their help to get back into harbour anyways. ..Now, before they fire on us again!" He turned to lean up against the railing for support.   
  
"Aye, aye, Sir!" barked Bracegirdle.   
  
"Does she answer the helm, Captain Foster?" Pellew cried.   
  
"Barely! You there," he called to the remnants of the Indy's crew near the riggings. "Get up there and get to work! We must try to bring her back around!" Bracegirdle kept his glass turned onto the frigate for any sign that they were readying to come and assist Indefatigable. Slowly, as Mr. Bowles was slowly trying to sit up and get his head to clear, Pellew began to slump further down against the rail.  
  
"Another ship!" cried Foster. "Approaching alongside her!"  
  
"Yes, I see her, Sir" said Bracegirdle.   
  
"Can you tell… who she is," asked Pellew in a wavering voice. The red stain was larger, covering nearly the whole left front of his weskit, to say nothing of the dark and damp patch now visible on the back of his coat. His shoulder throbbed, and the deck seemed to be swimming before his eyes.   
  
"That's the Arethusa!" yelled Foster. "I'd know that beauty anywhere, even in this haze!"  
  
"Our signal…..can she see our signal?" Pellew asked weakly.  
  
"Sir!" cried Bracegirdle. "Sir, she's flying the Admiral's flag! And they're calling out the boats, Sir!"   
  
"That's well, then," Pellew was panting for breath. "Hold us steady, Foster…" He slid down onto the deck, his eyes closed.   
  
"Sir!" cried Bracegirdle, rushing to his side. "Sir!"  
  
"Mr. Bracegirdle," murmured Pellew, barely clinging to consciousness. "Mr. Hornblower, where is he? …And….Mr. Kennedy?" He reached for Bracegirdle's arm. "I… lost sight of them….do you know….where they are?"   
  
"I have not seen them, Sir, since Mr. Kennedy fell…Sir," said Bracegirldle, gravely.  
  
"He was hurt?" rasped Pellew. "Find them….please, … find them for me." And he collapsed against his first officer, unconscious.

"We have to get a doctor for Archie," Horatio said as he placed pressure on one of the wounds oozing blood. His mind raced in fear. Each time he found a wound and dressed it another would start to bleed. Styles, Mathews, and Oldroyd stood helplessly about the hold.   
  
"I'll go sir," Mathews spoke up. Just as he opened the door a dark figure rushed in, holding a pistol. Violently he shoved Mathews out of the way. Quickly he headed for his target, the officers. Silence engulfed the room as the gray cloaked man leveled his pistol on Hornblower.   
  
"You will come with me or die," he hissed.   
  
"Who are you?"  
  
He only laughed at the question. "I was the leader who almost had this ship snatched from his hands. But now," he smiled ruefully down at Hornblower," Now I have you."  
  
Horatio still had his hand on Archie's chest, when suddenly he stopped breathing. Horatio forgot about the new threat and focused on his injured friend. "Archie, Breath!"  
Shaking him gently at first panic turned to fear as he still refused to breathe. "Archie! Archie!" he screamed, as he frantically tried to revive him.  
  
Collins grabbed Horatio's arm and dragged him toward the door. "No!" Horatio protested and tried to push him off. But the pistol that slammed into his ribs forced his silence. The 3 sailors watched helplessly as Collins took his hostage and headed above decks.  
  
Horatio stared in disbelief at the total chaos on deck. Cannon balls continued to rain down finding their mark by the debris that littered the entire ship. "My God, what have you done?" he whispered.   
  
Collins only laughed nervously and pushed him toward the helm. The sight that greeted Hornblower's eyes chilled him to the bone. Pellew lay motionless against the rail, surrounded by Foster, Bracegirdle, and Bowles. Blood clearly stained his coat.  
  
"Not the captain too," Horatio said in disbelief. It was as if he was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. All his senses seemed to leave him, as he saw nothing but Pellew and Archie dead in front of him. He stopped, uncaring what happened to him now. Collins jabbed him with the gun, trying to force him forward. But he refused to go any further. Slowly he turned on his captor. "You did this. You killed them!" he said in a low angry tone.   
  
Collins now had the pistol against Horatio's chest. "Move!" Horatio shook his head. "No."  
  
By now Foster, Bowles, and Bracegirdle watched the two men, unable to help.   
  
Collins pulled the hammer back, ready to fire if Horatio did not obey him. "Move, d@mn you! Do as I tell you!"  
  
"No. You are no longer in charge here. I am."  
  
"What," Collins said confused, still holding the gun to his hostages chest.  
  
Horatio didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered now that his best friend had been killed along with the man he regarded as a father. He stood eye to eye with the mutineer, ready to die. "Why don't you kill someone while looking them in the face. It isn't as easy as you think it is."  
  
Sweat poured down Collins face as his hand began to shake.

"Collins, we have you," roared Foster, peering over the rail, "Arathusa's men are preparing to board. Surrender!"  
  
Collins glanced to the Arathusa as she edged in ever closer, her decks swarming with sailors and marines bearing torches, cutlasses and rifles. On the quarterdeck, clearly visible, strode none other but Admiral Hood, bellowing a quick succession of orders. Nearby the Admiral, a woman stood motionless, but Collins was too preoccupied to notice this curiosity.  
  
He returned his gaze to Hornblower, whom he still had in his aim.  
  
"Prepare a boat, or he dies!"  
  
A nearby mutineer, his face smeared with blood, stepped forward. "Us, sir?"  
  
Collins whipped his head about without lowering his pistol arm. He and Hornblower were surrounded by a crowd of men, mutineers mingled with loyals and marines, and he could not catch his breath long enough to sift out one or any other.  
  
"Anyone, quickly. A boat, food and water--" he stepped closer to Hornblower, and pressed his pistol against the lieutenant's cheek. "Hurry up, dxmn you!"  
  
Several of the mutineers and the Indefatigables stepped forward, holding their hands out in confusion.  
  
"Which boat?"  
  
"Any opposite to the Arathusa--" Collins snapped.  
  
"Stand your ground--" Hornblower yelled.  
  
"Sir, they're boarding!"  
  
Collins glanced at the rail, at the sailors swarming over it onto the deck, their blades drawn, their guns primed. At that same moment, at that same sight, the Indefatigable men picked up any weapon at hand and renewed their attack on the startled mutineers, some of whom surrendered immediately. Surprised to see the circle of onlookers dissolve into a melee, and his men fall fast, Collins lowered his pistol and darted into the crowd.  
  
Hornblower, without a second's hesitation, dashed after him, "Get him, get Collins, he's escaping," but the fray was too thick. He lost sight of Collins almost immediately.  
  
Foster, with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, leapt down from the quarterdeck ladder, yelling for Collins' hide and blood and every last shred of his entrails.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Susanna stood at the rail, on the quarterdeck of the Arathusa, the din of the attack dulled to faintness in her ears. The flickering torchlight was unsteady, mercurial, but with her keen sight, augmented by a more powerful and mysterious sense, she could see that her husband was injured, that he was losing too much blood. He lay on the quarterdeck of his ship, unmoving, while two men hovered over him, trying to staunch the flow from his shoulder wound.  
  
"Well, my Lady, a few more minutes will see a favourable end!" the Admiral smiled. Susanna heard him, though faintly, and she tried to smile and reply, but he was already gone, shouting out more orders.  
  
Staring at the immobile man limp on the quarterdeck, she saw one of his two attendants lift his hands momentarily. A motion of despair or defeat? She squinted more intently, and realized how little she could see, not even his face or uniform, even. He could be another officer, she could tell that he was an officer, though not his rank...but she knew.  
  
Gathering up her skirts, she strode to the Admiral. Pitching her voice louder than his bellowing, she caught his attention.  
  
"My Lord, I must go!"  
  
"Go?" He spun around to face her, startled. "Where?"  
  
"To the Indefatigable!"  
  
"My lady, are you mad? Board the Indy with all that rout? Certainly not--" She dashed away, and he cut himself off.

Susanna made her way quickly through the men crowded on the deck. None of them seemed to even take notice of her as she looked around for help. She knew what she needed, but did seem to find it. Finally, in the darkness she found her prize.  
  
Leaning over the railing she waved her arm.  
  
"Excuse me! I say, excuse me!". The men in the boat below looked up as if they had just been caught stealing from the galley. Then, one man, taller than the rest and looking as though he had just woken up, stood.  
  
"Ma'am?", he asked as if he had never seen a woman before. Susanna smiled inside, I'm sure he never expected to see one here and now.  
  
"I need your help!", she called as loudly as she dared. The men whispered to each other for a time before the man standing sushed them.  
  
"Ma'am?", he asked again as the boat inched closer to the side of the Arethusa. Good, very good, Susanna proclamied silently.  
  
"I'm Lady Pellew, I need to get to the Indefatigable.", she told them, nearly half over the railing by this time. The man, who's face she could not see in the dark lit up like a star. He bowed as did the men next to him.  
  
"It would be my pleasure M'Lady.", he told her as one of the other sailors reached out to hold onto the ropes at the side of the ship.  
  
Susanna could not believe her luck. In no time the man, who she finally saw was dressed as an able seaman climbed up the side of the ship, secured a rope ladder and helped her down into the boat. She did not care that she was going onto a ship that was filled with murderous mutineers. All that matter was she was going to Edward.  
  
She sat down in the boat and straightened her skirts while the seaman stood over her. She could hear the oars in front of her dipping quietly into the water.  
  
It was only then that she noticed the seamen in front of her was soaked to the skin. She looked up into his face. He was smiling a rather strange grin. He then bowed deeply to her.  
  
"Lady Pellew, allow me to introduce myself... I'm Collins."

The hold felt like a tomb as Oldroyd sat next to Kennedy's body. Even the air felt heavy and stale. Nervously he rubbed his hands together, trying to take his mind off where he was and what was next to him. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. He knew Hornblower was hurting from his lose. He and Kennedy had been good friends. And now he had lost his friend. Suddenly an ice-cold hand grabbed his arm. Oldroyd let out a blood-curdling scream.   
  
Instantly Mathews and Styles ran to his side but he wouldn't shut up. "Oldroyd! Oldroyd!" Mathews yelled not getting any response as the young man continued his screams. Finally Styles bopped him on the back of the head, bringing him out of his hysteria, almost.  
  
"It grabbed me! A ghost! Mr. Kennedy's a ghost!!"  
  
Archie moaned slightly and let go of Oldroyd. Mathews knelt next to him. "Sir? Can you hear me sir?"  
  
"Yes Mathews," Archie sighed. "Where's Horatio?"  
  
"He went back on deck to help take the ship back, sir."  
  
"Why aren't you helping him," Archie said as he struggled to sit up. Styles now was at his side, helping support his head. "But sir, we thought you were dead," Styles blurted, relieved as everyone else he wasn't.  
  
"Nonsense. You men go after Mr. Hornblower and help get those bloody traitors off our ship!"   
  
"Aye, aye sir!" they said in unison.   
  
Archie watched them leave but stopped Oldroyd as he reached the door. "Wait." Slowly Archie slumped back to the floor. "I need your help Oldroyd."  
  
Mathews and Styles caught sight of Horatio by the rail. Quickly they were at his side. Seeing his men Horatio ordered," Over the side boys. D@mned if I'm going to let that murderous son of the devil get away!"   
  
Just as they shoved off from the Indy, one more figured jumped into the boat, Captain Foster. "Mind if I join you?"

"Mr. Collins, you're soaked!" Susanna said, suddenly noting the wild look in his eyes, that of a man slightly possessed, and a total nervousness about him. "Are you not the from the Arethusa?"  
  
"Why no, M'um, " he said with a wicked smile. "I'm the man who tried to shoot Captain Foster and d@mned if I didn't get your husband instead, poor sod!"  
  
Susanna's hand flew to her mouth, as her other hand suddenly closed around the drawstrings of her reticule, held tightly in her lap. She was about to try and wedge her hand inside to draw out her pistol, but a voice rang out over the chaos.  
  
"There he is! There!!" It was Mr. Hornblower, calling from one of the side boats. Susanna saw him motion to one of the marines beside him for a musket.   
  
But Collins leaped up in the boat, setting it to wild lurching and quickly came behind Susanna. He pulled her head back cruelly and held a knife against her throat.   
  
"Don't do it Mr. Hornblower!!! Not any of you!!" he yelled, to what suddenly seemed like an entire battalion of troops lined up alongside the rails of both Indefatigable and Arethusa, not to mention the several boats all gathered in the swell - and all of them with muskets primed and loaded. "One shot and the Lady gets it, got that?" He grinned.   
  
Susanna blinked in horror, as the knife pressed against her throat. Dear God, she thought, I've really done it now, Lord Hood will never forgive me, never. She looked at the men in the boat - some them were soaked like Collins so she presumed them to be part of his group. A poor Marine sat at the far end, dry, but cornered by more of Collins' lackeys - one of them holding what must have been his musket. Which meant it was dry and most likely loaded. The rest were seamen from the Arethusa, presumably, a few of them with swords, all now tossed in a pile in the bilgewater at the bottom of the boat. But if Collins was wet, then he had no weapon that was of use, it would seem, other than his knife. His d@mned knife.   
  
"Stand down, all of you!! Now!!" cried Collins into the cold night air. Susanna could feel his heart hammering wildy behind her, the cold and clammy sweat of his hand that held the knife. "Drop the muskets - drop them! Now!!'   
  
Admiral Hood stared in shock at the scene before him. "Hold your fire! I say, all of you, do as he says!" he cried, echoing the same commands then being shouted aboard the Indy. A wave of falling firearms fell onto the decks of both frigates,and in the boats bobbing beside them. Hood thought quickly, taking a fleeting stock of the state of affairs on the Indy's deck. He could see from the moonlight and the lanterns that Pellew was now gone, presumably, please God, taken below to the surgeon. He peered down at the boats.   
  
Good God, there was Foster, crouched down low at the one end, trying to avoid Collins' eye, and poised like a sharpshooter. Was Foster a good shot? It was good range, but the boats were bouncing up and down like peas in a pan, and it was dark, dear God. Could he create a diversion, and give the man clean aim? His mind was racing, but a voice within him began speaking.  
  
"Mr. Collins, I am Admiral Lord Hood, Second Sea Lord," he cried out. "Tell me what your demands are, young man. You have a captive audience before you, I assure you, I will listen."  
  
"Admiral Hood, such an honor! And all for me! Why," Collins said, getting cocky now, "you shouldn't have." He looked to one of his men, the one with the musket, nodded and said, "Take him out."  
  
The man turned, gun raised and pointed - Hood's red gleaming sash glowed like a beacon in the night. "Admiral, get down!!" screamed Susanna, as the knife pressed deeper against her skin. She blinked as the shot was fired, saw the Admiral thrown down towards the deck, as the ball struck the mast post behind him. Well, thank God for that, at least, thought Susanna.   
  
"Nice try, m'Lady," sneered Collins angrily. "Out to cause me trouble are you?" he pricked her slightly with the point of the blade. She gasped. "Wouldn't do that again if I were you," he said.  
  
"You're a fool," said Susanna evenly. "He's the Admiral for God's sake, our families are friends. He'll give you what you want, just tell him!" She paused. "His wife is like my Moth-"  
  
"Right then," announced Collins. "Let's try this again, shall we?" He focused his eyes on Hood, standing once more by the rail, his wig slightly off center. "Here's how it'll go. My men and I get back aboard the Indy. No tricks, no tricks!! You stand down, ALL of you, nothing, not a move. When we're ready to sail, the Lady goes back in the boat, all by her lonesome -"  
  
"No, please," cried Susanna, "Take me with you, let me see my husband!"   
  
"Shut up!" cried Collins, jerking her even closer against his chest. "You're my safe passage out of here! She goes back in the boat, d'you hear? You leave her be, not one move, until we're out of range. Then, you can come fetch her, and not before. Jump the gun and I turn the cannons on her. Got that?? Any questions???"  
  
Hood looked along the railing of the Indy, looking for some way to provoke a diversion. He looked down and saw Foster, still crouched down in the lolling boat, the musket alongside him like an extended arm. Keep talking, thought Hood.  
  
"Collins, you'll never make it to France - this is madness!" Dear God, he thought, how to give Foster the chance, how? The boats were in constant motion in the swell, and even with the moonlight, Lady Pellew was practically sitting in the man's lap!  
  
Susanna was likewise wracking her brain. She had seen Foster as well, and hoped to God he knew what he was doing there, poised and waiting like an assassin. Think of something, she told herself. Think! This man is one step short of losing it, he is shaking like a leaf against my back and he's making this up as he goes! She glanced at the poor Marine, across the boat from her, saw the musket now lying on the bench. It had not been reloaded, had it? No, they had forgotten to do so. So, it was just this blasted knife then. Could she get away from him --enough to give Foster his chance?   
  
An idea came to her. It was juvenile, it was ludicrous - but as a young girl it had worked like a charm on her 13 year old brother.   
  
She groaned. "ohhhhh....this boat....lurching so much...." she gasped, "I....I beg your pardon....I'm so dizzy" Collins looked down at her curiously, but held her fast. "oh," she moaned, "oh....oh dear...I'm afraid, I'm....going to be ill..." and with every ounce of fortitude in her, she contracted the muscles of her throat, forced a gag, and then proceeded to retch all over Mr. Collins' arm, with full vocal accompaniment.  
  
Collins blanched in horror, and then, in a split second of pure instinctive reaction, he stood up and pushed Susanna away from him, and she scrambled quickly to the far side of the boat. "For God's sake!" he cried, shaking his dripping arm wildly.   
  
In another split second, he realized his folly. But a split second was all Foster needed.

In the dark, the musket exploded. Susanna cried out at the suddeness of it. Collins jerked back and dropped against the front of the boat.  
  
Unfortunately, he was up again in the blink of an eye. Blood poured from a gash in his cheek, spilling down his chin, his eyes were those of a beast. He launched himself toward Susanna. It all happened so fast that none had a chance to react. Susanna screamed and pushed her hand desperately into her reticule. Collins landed on top of her heavily, blood splattering her face and dress like a jar of spilled ink. His hand closed around her wrist.  
  
"Stop it!", she cried as he took hold of her pistol. He threw his head back and started howling with manic laughter.   
  
The horrific sound echoed across the water, chilling the bones of every man who heard it.  
  
"Dear god.", Horatio whispered, then looked quickly up at the Arethusa. The Admiral had wisely taken cover, but was still overseeing the fiasco unfolding before him. The wild laughter stopped suddenly which was even more chilling.  
  
"We shall try this again!", Collins roared and ordered his men to pull for the Indy. He was more than willing to change the rules with every heartbeat if need be. He could do it. He held Susanna fast, pressing the pistol into her face. She was too terrified to even move.  
  
It pleased him that Hornblower and Foster were off of the Indy. It made everything just that much easier. That left only one...  
  
They reached the Indy in no time and Collins dragged Susanna onto the ship. She did her best to fight him, but the moment he leapt onto her she had seen the devil in his eyes. She knew he would not stop, no matter what.  
  
He dragged her toward the bow of the ship. He bellowed out to one of his men and in the blink of an eye the man had taken hold of Susanna and lashed her to the railing, facing out into the water. When Collins had let her go, she started to fight again. To no avail. Collins stood back and watched her display for a while, a pleased smile on his face. He was enjoying this immensely. Susanna stopped flailing and in her second unladylike act, spat at him. Again, he started laughing. Without a word, he walked away from her.  
  
Susanna looked out at the Arethusa, then down at the boat that held Foster and Hornblower. Every man was frozen in a tableux. Help me. Please.  
  
On hearing a commotion, she craned her neck around behind her. Collins' men were taking weapons away from the remaining crew of the Indy. One of the men from the jolly boat stood behind her, her pistol in her back. Then, from below she could see two men carrying what looked like a sack. She knew it wasn't.  
  
"Dear god, Edward!", she screamed. The men carried the unconscious Pellew toward her. At her left, Collins smiled.  
  
"Say goodbye Lady Pellew.", he told her. Edward...  
  
"Edward.", she whispered as she looked into his face, trying to ignore the now scarlet shirt he wore. His eyelids flutted, then slowly opened. He was then lifted over the railing and dropped into the sea. Susanna heard the splash and it tore her apart.  
  
"No!", she screamed and tried to tear herself free. Collins spun on his heel.  
  
"Search the ship, I want every man found and either clapped in irons, or sent over the side! Now!"

Oldroyd hurried back into the hold, latching the door quickly behind him, his prize of three muskets held proudly in front of him. He was breathless, his eyes wide.  
  
"Well, what could you find out?" a voice asked nervously.  
  
"E's still got us, Sir, can't see 'ow many men 'e's got, not in the dark leastways - but they're none of 'em much smarter 'an 'e is. To be sure, no one makes a move less he says to!"  
  
"Yes, yes, of course," replied Kennedy, wincing as he struggled to sit up, keeping his arm tight about his middle. "How many officers still aboard?"  
  
"Tough to say, Sir. Mr. Bracegirdle and Mr. Bowles are on the quarterdeck, unarmed, sad to say, Sir, and lashed down by now," answered Oldroyd. "Poor Mr. Cleveland, 'e's dead, Sir, sorry Sir," Oldroyd continued his narrative as he helped Kennedy to a full sitting position. "Tossed the capting right overboard, Sir! 'E did, the b@stard! Saw 'im get pulled into a boat, couldn't see which, but 'e's 'urt bad, I could see that - bleedin' bad. And then I ran back in 'ere. And that be all, Sir, 'cept for her Ladyship."  
  
"What? What Lady?" Kennedy's eyes flared.  
  
"Capting's Lady, sir!" cried Oldroyd. "E's taken 'er 'ostage! Got 'er tied up by the bowsprit! And I 'eard 'im say they was coming to 'aul us all out next!"  
  
"But, for all he thinks, I'm just a corpse - perhaps," murmured Kennedy. "And we have these…." he said, reaching for a musket. "C'mon Oldroyd, we may have an advantage here!" And he rose, not steady, but determined, his other arm close to his side.  
  
"But, Sir, you're-"  
  
"Nice and tightly wrapped up, thanks to you, Oldroyd. I can manage, I know I can, I have to" he said, managing to convince himself, if not Oldroyd. "We cannot let him win this - we must DO something!"

While Kennedy and Oldroyd made their way cautiously through the lower decks Collins stood on the Quarterdeck making sure his orders were carried out to the letter. On his return to the Indefatigable his men had been renewed. What they had first seen as the desertion of the ring leader they now decided was a master stroke of his plan. Collins did not care what they thought, as long as they were behind him again. He felt like God. It did not bother him one bit that in the dark water before him sat Hood's flagship, or that more than a hundred of the King's men had guns trained on him. He knew the ways of the Navy, especially those like Hood, Hornblower and Pellew. None would do a thing to him or his men, so long as Lady Susanna Pellew had a pair of muskets and a cannon aimed at her back. There was no fear in Collins as he stood higher than was considered prudent. He was as safe as if he had been hiding in the hold. Safer even.  
  
A smile crossed his hard features as he watched the men below him bringing up seamen, midshipmen, marines and corpses. The dead were pitched uncermoniously over the sides, the living were strongly urged to do the same thing of their own volition. Collins could not help but laugh as the men cursed him before going over. It was beyond comical.  
  
Collins hoped that by he time his men had cleared out the Indy he would have a firm plan in place for his escape. All he knew so far was that wherever, or however he did it, the beautiful Susanna Pellew would be joining him. After all, by now she was probably a widow.  
  
The thought made Collins smile again. Snapping his fingers at the man to his left he made his way toward her Ladyship.  
  
  
"I missed... I cannot *believe* it.", Foster muttered to himself as he sat next to Pellew. Horatio did his best to ignore him. He had been mumbling ever since he had fired the musket. Horatio had done his best to bite his lip. The self-pity of the man about to drive him nuts and his incessant chatter was not helping Horatio's concentration one bit.  
  
I could swim, he thought as he watched men and bodies going over the side of the Indy. Pursing his lips, he looked down at Pellew. His relief at finding Pellew alive was beyond measure. Now, getting the ship back, and Lady Pellew safe was paramount in the young lieutenant's mind. Without another word he pulled off his jacket and ducked down behind Styles.  
  
"Sir?", Styles asked. Horatio held a finger up to his lips. Styles turned back to face the Indefatigable.  
  
"Not a move... as soon as I'm under, pull for the Arethusa. Slowly, you hear?", he whispered. Faintly, the men nodded. Using Styles as a shield from the eyes of the men on the Indy, Horatio slipped silently into the water and beneath the surface, determined that the first face Captain Pellew would see when he awoke was that of his beloved wife.

Archie and Oldroyd slowly made their way to the maindeck. Archie knew these mutineers were not organized and didn't even know each other. This he would use to his advantage. On the way up he had found two white rags which they tied around their left arms. This was how the mutineers distinguished themselves from the crew of the Indy.   
  
With great caution they emerged on deck. Oldroyd helped Archie to the railing. Still holding his side, he quickly scanned the ship. Bowles and Bracegirdle were tied down tight on the quarterdeck. Behind them was Lady Pellew lashed to the rail with Collins no more than two feet away. "Blast that coward. Leave it to a madman to do such a thing to a lady," Archie whispered.  
  
"Sir," Oldroyd said, looking in the opposite direction," look out! 'ere comes some more baddies!"  
  
Archie turned and saw the three men approaching. He expected hard, evil looking men. But they appeared scared and confused. "Are you ok?" the tall one asked noticing Archie's bloodied shirt.  
  
"Just a cut from one of those d@mn officers!" he said thinking on his feet.  
  
"Better go see the doc," the short stubby one said. "We'll help you."  
Archie and Oldroyd had no choice and went with the men. Entering the sick berth Hepplewhite gave them no attention.  
  
"Hey old fart! Help my officer here before I beat your brains out!" the dark haired one threatened.  
  
In terror Hepplewhite jumped into action. As he reached Archie he recognized him. "What's the matter old man?" the tall one asked catching the doc's reaction.   
  
"N-Nothing," Hepplewhite stuttered and looked down, avoiding any eye contact.  
  
"Hmmm, well get to it then!" the tall one growled, looking over Oldroyd and Archie in suspicion. "Say, what boat were you two on anyway?"  
  
Oldroyd swallowed and turned to Archie. But Archie showed no fear as he took a deep breath before answering. He knew whatever he said he better sound like an officer.   
  
Horatio silently cursed the cold water. This was all Foster's fault and no matter what happened now, he would be blamed for it. Even if by some miracle everything came out all right, Foster would still get credit. Swells of seawater washed over him. All the boats in the area made swimming nearly impossible in the dark. But the Indy loomed bright before him and Horatio knew he would make it. As he reached the side he fought to control his chattering teeth. The cold was intense and his whole body shook from it. With a frozen hand he clenched a rope that hung over the foc'sle. He pulled on the rope with all his might but nothing happened. The cold had drained his body of the energy he needed to pull himself up. He tried again but only rose a foot out of the icy water before plopping back down. His arms refused to support his weight. "This isn't good," he thought. His body began to shake more violently when he heard someone clear their throat. It came from above him. Slowly he raised his gaze to the Indy expecting to see a pistol leveled at him. What a shock and surprise it was when he realized who stood there. The cook, with his goofy grin plastered upon his face, smiled down at him.

"For God's sake, Man, get me up there, will you?" cried Hornblower. The water was positively frigid, and he was shaking with the cold. Cook pulled him up, grabbing hold of his waist and hauling him up over the side. "Here, Sir" he muttered, handing him a blanket and removing the soiled white kerchief he kept tied around his neck. "Y'might want to put this on after you dry yerself off a bit - so as you'll like blend in, eh?"   
  
Hornblower grinned at Cook's gesture. Nice of him, that. "Thanks," he smiled. "Tho I can't imagine as Collins' has forgotten my mug - but thanks." He looked around him. "How many of us are still here, do you think?"  
  
"Tough to tell. I did see Mr. Kennedy and Oldroyd on deck awhile ago - and then they went below to sick berth. Hepplewhite's still there, too, last I 'eard."  
  
"Archie, thank God!" said Hornblower. "I'm on way, then. You coming?"  
  
Cook smiled again "You betcha! Let's get these dirty b@stards off our ship, eh?"  
  
************  
  
Matthews held tight to Pellew as they paddled their way through the murky waters. The moonlight had dimmed and the darkness thickened, but the ghastly white features of his captain stood out clearly. While the bleeding had finally begun to clot in the brief time he'd been taken below, his precipitous drop into the drink had opened up the wounds once more and he could see the fresh blood, like wet, black paint in the night. "God, he's bleedin again!" Matthews cried, "an 'e's cold as ice, we must 'urry!"   
  
Styles and Foster rowed with renewed vigor, Foster directing them round the rear of Arethusa, towards the side ladder that was well out of sight of Collins and his men. Suddenly Pellew's body began to convulse with uncontrollable spasms, trembling wildly. "Good God, we're losin 'im!" cried Matthews, trying with all his strength to rub some warmth back into the Captain's body and stop the shaking. "We're losin' 'im!!"  
  
"Styles, bring us over, now," called Foster, as he dropped his oar and dashed to Pellew's side. "For God's sake, Captain Pellew, don't you DARE die on me, y' hear?" he cried. "I'll not be havin' that on my conscience, I'll not!" He grasped Pellew's limp arm and rubbed it fiercely. "Ye hang on, now, hang on, we're getting you to the surgery, right now!"   
  
As Styles grasped the ropes of the side ladder, and called the men above to come down and help them, Pellew's body stilled. His breathing was shallow and rapid, but he settled. "You there!" called Foster, "help us get him aboard, and to your surgeon, at once!"  
  
********  
  
Admiral Hood and Captain Jameson, Captain of the Arethusa, stood numbly on deck, wracking their brains over what to try next. Jameson wrung his hands. "This powerlessness! I cannot stand it! To stand here and do nothing! Nothing!"  
  
"And what would you have me do, Sir?" barked Hood. "Strike, and see the Lady blown to bits? You know I can't-"  
  
"I know, Sir. I know," nodded Jameson. "I'm sorry, Sir…I just can't figure what it is he wants, for Christ's sake."  
  
"Nor can I," murmured Hood, sadly. "At first, I could follow it - the ship, the officers, even an extra captain as well. Get them to the French and there's a sizable reward waiting for him, no doubt. But, now?" Hood shook his head. "Now? Just the lady? Why?"  
  
"A ransom, as well, perhaps? I mean, everyone knows that Captain Pellew is-"  
  
"Not short of coin, aye, you've got that right" nodded Hood. Wasn't hard to figure that along with all the acclaim for that impressive list of prize ships came a sizable fortune. As if that weren't enough, Lady Pellew came from a very wealthy family as well.   
  
"And with what is happening to aristocrats these days, over in Paris, Sir," added Jameson.  
  
"No doubt, Jameson, you're right there as well. Captain Pellew would pay any price to save his wife from the guillotine, I'll grant you that. Assuming he's still alive…." Hood's voice trailed away.  
  
"But how?" cried Jameson. "How to get there? He's got half his masts shot away! Soon it will be dawn. If he limps away now, he must know we'll be after him at first light, and with the speed to best him I'll wager. And then what?"  
  
"I don't know, Captain. And I'm not all that sure that Collins does either." And then Hood saw the little boat pulling towards them, coming around. Finally, he thought, something I CAN do! He hurried to the other side.  
  
"To the surgeon with him, on the double!" Hood cried, as the men brought Pellew carefully up the ladder.   
  
As if I need to be told THAT, thought Styles, but he nodded out of respect just the same.   
  
"Peters!" called Hood, motioning to his coxwain, who hurried to his side. "Peters, listen carefully. Go with them to the surgeon. Once he's seen to Captain Pellew, and IF it's safe to move him, I want him taken ashore, at once, do you hear me? To my home, right away, Lady Hood will know what to do. Fetch the doctor, not that fool from Haslar, the good one, Lady Hood will know, is that clear?"   
  
He nodded and scurried below. The least I can do for him, thought Hood, if it's not too late already. A proper room - warmth, a bed, proper care, the very least. Christ, I got him into this mess, did I not. He turned back towards the solitary figure by the bowsprit of Indefatigable. Silhouetted against the remnants of the moonlight, he saw her shoulders slumped, her head down. Forgive me, Madam, he thought silently. And be brave, dear God, be brave

"Don't you men have something better to do!" Archie bellowed, making everyone in the room jump. The three mutineers scrambled for the door murmuring "Yes sir," and "Aye sir."  
  
As soon as the room was cleared Archie winked at Oldroyd. "That'll teach'em!"  
  
The look on Oldroyd's face was total shock. He had never heard such a demanding tone from Kennedy before. "Oy sir, em just glad you dun us like that!"  
  
Archie laughed at the remark but winced in pain when Hepplewhite touched his side. "Looks pretty bad Mr. Kennedy."  
  
"Just fix me up. I have a ship to take back, wounded or not."  
Hepplewhite only frowned at this and went about his task.  
  
Horatio and the cook slowly made their way to the main mast. Horatio could easily see Lady Pellew tied to the rail. "He'll pay for that," he whispered in anger.  
  
"Sir," the cook pointed furthers back," looks like the rest of the crew."  
  
D@mn, he swore under his breath. This was going to be harder than he thought.  
Suddenly he recognized a figure emerging onto the quarterdeck. "That's Archie! What in God's name is he doing!"  
  
Archie marched boldly up to Collins, who had his back to him. "Sir! I must protest this treatment of this lady!"  
  
Collins whirled around, pistol in hand, coiled like a cobra. "Who the hell are you!" he spat.  
But Archie brushed past him, moving the pistol out of his way. He untied the cloth gagging her, as Collins stared in disbelief.  
  
"Now listen hear snotty!" he began. But Archie turned and confronted him. "NO! You listen to me!" He took a step forward, anger flashing in his eyes. "You have no right to treat this woman like this! Every man on this ship agrees with me, don't you men!"  
  
Collins looked about him in puzzlement as his own men growled yea's and shook their heads. Collins was out voted. Slowly he smiled and lowered his pistol. "I like a brave man," he chuckled and allowed Archie to untie Lady Pellew.   
  
He helped her to the bench next to the helm. "Thank you," she whispered breathlessly. "What's your name boy?" Collins asked as he patted Archie on the back.  
  
"Here goes nothing!" he thought silently.

Inhaling deeply, Kennedy tried to smirk. "Capitaine Francois le Crapaud," he told Collins, his accent mercilessly mangling the 'r's.  
  
Collins and Lady Pellew and a few nearby mutineers stared at him, stupified. Kennedy held on to his smile steadily, and hoped that his intuition was correct, and glanced about the blood-splattered splintered wreckage of the upper decks. His guts were in a boil, and his head throbbed cruelly, and he felt that swirling lightness that often preludes a faint or collapse. For a second, as Collin stood silent, he'd wished that he'd answered with "John Smith" or something equally as innocuous. But Collin's flashing grin, "I like a brave man," had propelled him to cheek.   
  
Kennedy stood his ground as Collins stepped to him, mere hand breadths' away. And he breathed in relief as Collins laughed and clapped him on the back.  
  
"Very well, Francois, take the wheel!" Collins chortled, and strode away, his arms pumping erratically with each stride.  
  
Kennedy went to the wheel as bidden.  
  
"Did he give you a course?" called out Lady Pellew.  
  
"No, ma'am."  
  
He saw her shoulders shake in silent laughter.  
  
------------------  
  
Horatio sighed with relief as Kennedy took the wheel. He had felt the tension of the exchange--every man on the ship had paused at the sight of Collins and the young man squaring off--and though he had no idea what had happened, he could tell that it had come off well for Kennedy. And Lady Pellew was untied and presently sitting on the bench next to the helm.  
  
But what was to be done? Hornblower wracked his brain. An escape with Lady Pellew and the Indys would be hard enough--but he was determined to take the Indy with them. He and Cook presently were ducked behind a pile of sails, barrels, and debris, but they were on a deck teeming with mutineers.

And then he glanced at Cook again and smiled.  
  
"Collins forgot a few things, didn't he?"  
  
Cook frowned, taken aback by the question. "Dunno, mebbe his brains."  
  
"Well, yes, but Hepplewhite's doing the surgery, right?"  
  
"Dxmned right."  
  
"See," Hornblower smiled, "he doesn't have a surgeon of his own. And, I'll bet, he doesn't have a cook, either--"  
  
Cook met his broadening grin.  
  
"Dxmned right!"  
  
"Those men must be pretty hungry, now."  
  
"Oh, some of 'em's already stove in the casks, that's fer sure. If Collins don't post a guard on the stores, they'll all pickle themselves soon enow."   
  
"Yes..." Hornblower tapped Cook on the arm, "But I'm sure they'll want something a bit more substantial. Certainly, Collins must have worked up a fair appetite. We must oblige."  
  
"And what's on the menu, Sir?"  
  
"A special stew." Horatio intoned gravely. "Your usual ragout for traitors." Cook remained silent for a few instances, pondering, his smile growing gradually wider.  
  
"Aye, aye, Sir!" Cook clipped. "We'll be requirin' some stuff from the surgery, but I'm yer man!"

Susanna pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders and shivered. Lord, it was cold now, and despite aching shoulders she rubbed her arms vigorously to keep warm. But now, at last, there was hope as well to help keep her warm, and she prayed that soon this nightmare would end. She had stifled her laughter at Mr. Kennedy's performance and vowed to repeat every word of it to Edward. He had written to her of young Mr. Kennedy several times before - at first unsure of this seemingly fragile midshipman's future, his misfortune at falling under the shadow of Mr. Hornblower, and then amazingly, his remarkable and unwavering resolve, while still so very pale and thin, in his intent to return to El Ferrol with his comrade. And then, Musillac, and Edward had written her again of how Kennedy had saved the young Lieutenant's life and Susanna had noted well the crescendo of Edward's growing esteem for the lad. Now he had touched HER with his bravery, and his cheeky inventiveness. Oh please, she prayed, please, Mr. Kennedy, get us out of this. Get me to my husband's bedside where I belong. For I do not belong here, she realized. I do not make a good damsel in distress - the very thought of being beholden to anybody is an anathema to me. I only wanted to see to my husband's safety - and I would do it all again, in a heartbeat. But these are high stakes, the highest, and I cannot play in a game where there are no rules.  
  
She cast another hopeful glance towards Mr. Kennedy, and in the murky darkness, offered him a smile. He caught it, nodded carefully, and then, looked back at her once more, and winked.  
  



	4. Part 4

Part 4

**Part 4**

************  
  
Pellew drifted in a blurry and diffuse sea of pain, tossed by frequent stabs of agony that pierced him to the core. Deeper down was oblivion, blessed and pure release, but above was his command, his ship, his men. He would fight to reach the surface, and then another bolt of fire would seize him and send him spiraling down once more. He fought on. He felt his arm being pushed firmly against his chest, pressed tight against his throbbing shoulder. This time the shocking intensity of the pain seemed to prick him to a higher level of alertness. They were wrapping layers of something around his shoulder. He felt himself lifted, God, the agony, so they could reach around his back.   
  
He heard a groan. "Ssshhh..Rest easy, Sir, we're almost done. You must lie still now."  
  
Are they talking to me, he wondered? He tried to speak, but a cold cup was held to his lips and in a flash he realized that he was thirsty beyond belief. He opened his lips to drink, but it was a bitter syrupy substance and he tried to shake his head. "No," he managed to moan.   
  
"To help you sleep, Sir. You need to rest," came a voice above him.  
  
"Hepplewhite?" he whispered.  
  
"No sir. Smythe, sir," answered the voice. "You're on the Arethusa now, and right honored to have you, we are. I've probed your wound, Sir. Went clean through, Sir, an' that's a relief, that is. Nicked your shoulder blade on the way in but sailed out the front of you right clear through, Sir."  
  
Pellew sighed. Thank God for that, then. A cold cup of water appeared now, it was held to his lips, as someone propped his head a bit, and he drank, gratefully.  
  
"Don't get me wrong, Sir," continued Smythe, as he eased Pellew back down onto the pillows. "You nearly bled yer last out there, and that little swim ye took didn't help any - it'll be rough going for awhile, but it's better than I thought it was, Sir." Pellew nodded, and tried to keep his eyes open to focus, but the room swam, and the torchlights danced in circles around him. As he closed his eyes, he thought he saw Foster in the background, talking to someone, arguing. Was it Hornblower? Where was Hornblower? And his ship, who had the ship, then, if he was here on Arethusa? He tried to call to Foster, but his voice would not carry. The voices suddenly grew louder. Foster was yelling now.  
  
"Of course you'll not move him, by God!" he cried, "Ye think he'll want to go, now? Are ye' mad? With his wife still aboard her, held prisoner?"  
  
Susanna??? "What??" he croaked, trying to rise, but Smythe held him firmly still.   
  
"Now see what you've done!" cried the surgeon. "Sir, Captain Pellew, Sir, you must be quiet, you must rest now."  
  
"Foster?" called Pellew, weakly, gritting his teeth against the pain. "What hap-"  
  
Captain Foster came to his bedside. "I'm here, Captain. Good to see you awake, man -"  
  
"My wife," whispered Pellew feebly, "where is she?"  
  
Foster looked around at the other men beside the cot. Smythe shook his head, but Styles nodded, as if to say, go on, he needs to know, and he deserves to know.  
  
"Collins has her, Pellew. But don't worry, she's unharmed, and we're going to get her back, and your ship, by God, we'll do it! The Admiral's above, Sir. I'm on my way there now, and Mr. Hornblower's just gone back to the Indy. So you must know we'll see this through," said Foster. My God, thought Pellew, the man nearly sounds apologetic. Then again, he realized, perhaps he well should be. "We'll get your Lady, Sir Edward," Foster promised, "and the Indy, safe and sound, you can count on it!"  
  
How? How in God's name did Susanna get out here? Why? What in God's name could she have been thinking? But the room was swirling now, and when Pellew closed his eyes the darkness swirled there too. Oblivion was pulling at him now, and it's reach was strong, too strong to resist. He gave in.

"Oy! You there!" Cook snapped, whipping his arm out to point at a bald mutineer who, tripping, had sent his bag of barley crashing to the deck. Cook had collared half a dozen mutineers and had put them to work transporting food and water to the kitchen. Their protests had died quickly, even confused and terrified men could understand where their morning sustenance had to come from.  
  
The bald man hefted the bag up and put it a few paces from the water-filled cauldron. The mutineers, under Cook's direction, had also fueled and lit the fire beneath it, and stocked up extra wood. Cook nodded approvingly. Another man staggered by, bent over with the weight of his burden. He groaned as he dropped his sack by the first one, and then turned to Cook.  
  
"Why don't he help, hey?" he pointed at a man sitting nearby on a bench, whose head and left foot were swathed in bandages.   
  
"He's cook's mate an' injured, blast yer eyes," Cook snarled, "conservin' his strength." The bandaged man inclined his head slightly, in a halting nod.  
  
"Why don't he dangle with the rest of dem sick coves? Pollutin' our grub, that's what he'd be doing, that's what," the man retorted smugly, clearly satisfied with his rhetoric. "He'd be droppin' his foul putrid scurvied limbs right inta the soup."  
  
The bandaged man, at this point, grinned at that, but none could see it. Doctor Hepplewhite had bandaged his face up amply, leaving only two slits for eyes and one for his nose; he'd left the lower portion of the bandage loose, so that the man could pull it down to eat. But he had no intention of doing that, anyway.  
  
"Get on with ya," Cook struck the mutineer across the shoulders with his long-handled ladle. "If I've got to fill your miserable guts, I ain't going to whittle more or my preci-ous time jawing 'bout it."  
  
Several more mutineers straggled in, bearing various casks. Cook gave directions where to leave them, and then the men stood still, waiting for new orders. Scanning the collection, Cook paused, a myriad of weights and volumes whirling about in his head. Finally, he snapped to attention.  
  
"Clear out, all of you! Breakfast'll be ina hour! Tell your Mr. Collins if he wants to place an especial request, he's got to do it now."  
  
The mutineers stumbled out. Bereft of their usual discipline, suddenly stripped of the almighty and awesome hierarchy of their ship, they were no better than zombies, dazed to find themselves in limbo, unsure if they had come to life, or had recently lost it. They followed Collins mostly because there was no one else to guide them--a few of them maybe believed in Collins fullright, but the rest of them, the majority, having made the effort to transfer their allegiance to Collins (however forcedly) were too hard put to consider shifting it.  
  
"That's it, then," Cook said, slamming both halves of the door shut and latching them locked. "Let's have a look at Mr. Hepplewhite's stash."  
  
Hornblower unfastened the lower half of his bandage and, reaching under the bench on which he sat, he withdrew two bottles and a sack, whose lumpy contours seemed to suggest a collection of articles within.  
  
"I also took the liberty of taking a few things from the paint room. Turp, mostly, some mineral spirits. It'll make them ill, at least." Hornblower pointed to several small barrels stacked up in the corner of the room.   
  
"That'll call for some over-spicing," Cook mused. "They won't eat that."  
  
"I thought that it could go in the spirits."  
  
"It'll help them along--they're at them already."  
  
Cook, upon assuming command, had posted some Marines to guard the foodstores, but had conveniently neglected the spirits. Consequently, most of the mutineers were gradually acquiring a rosy hue--he had pressed the palest into transporting his supplies, but they were now free to catch up with their mates."  
  
"Anyway, it's that Collins I'm most bent on garnishing. Wonder what his favourite dish might be?"  
  
Hornblower glanced at the door. "He hasn't sent word."  
  
"I'll step up in a bit and ask him person'ly. There's some fine stuff in the captain's stores that he won't turn his nose up at." Cook rubbed his chin with his hand. "I'm figuring that the Indies won't have naught but thin soup. Collins won't want them well fed, that'll be reason enough for splitting the course. But, of course, if Mr. Collins will be the gentleman and invite them to his mess...we'll have to make shift."  
  
"Indeed." Hornblower murmured. He and Cook had discussed how to spare Bowles, Bracegirdle, Kennedy, and Lady Pellew from their plan. To offer them scant gruel, or nothing at all, seemed to be the best course, but Collins was unpredictable, capable of spontaneous generosity as well as horrific cruelty--not to mention that he'd taken a shine to Kennedy--and so Cook and Hornblower had asked Dr. Hepplewhite for sedatives, rather than poison. Hepplewhite gave them all the laudanum he had, plus a few other soporific herbs and tinctures.   
  
"Now, then...mate..." Cook waved at one of the casks. "Crack 'er open, and we'll start the pork to boil. Then, I'll go present our menuuu and compleements to that confounded rascall."  
  
Hornblower pried open the cask, and then paused.  
  
"Do you think Collins drinks coffee?"  
  
Cook chuckled, "My ma always said that coffee weren't a sen-si-ble thing to drink."

Hood and Jameson kept their railside vigil aboard Arethusa, now further away from Indefatigable, their hands curved around tin mugs of warmed over and stale coffee, anything to help stave off the chill of the brisk and damp air.   
  
"By God, Sir," remarked Jameson, "I feel like a bloody rooster, waiting for the first sign of daybreak to crow, or, do something, anything, that is!"  
  
"Aye, Captain," answered Hood. "Seems interminable to me as well. Haven't pulled an all nighter since my son was born, as far as I can recall. And what a sorry prize he turned out to be, the rascal. Demmed ingrate…" Hood trailed off.  
  
"Well, I must say," suggested Jameson, rather naively, "that I did very much enjoy his performance last summer in Much Ado About-" he stopped short at sight of the sharp glare in Hood's eyes. "Of course, Sir, I understand, not what you intended for the lad, then," he stammered, blushing.   
  
"A disgrace, Jameson, nothing short," declared Hood. "But let us hope, pray even, perhaps, that this night's efforts shall not be in vain, eh? God, to be able to see what in blazes is going on over there!" he cried, motioning over to Indefatigable. "Thank God it will be dawn soon!"  
  
Jameson squinted carefully, peering through his glass. "I think, Sir, I cannot be certain, you understand, it's hard now since we're further away from 'em, but it seems that Lady Pellew is no longer held fast, Sir. I believe I see her, seated at a bench on deck. Still guarded, presumably."  
  
"Well, that's something, then. Barbarians…" muttered Hood. "Anything else you can make out? By God, you've got good eyes, man! About as good as Pellew's - and there's an eagle eye if I say so!"  
  
"There is someone at the wheel, Sir. I think I see a figure there, can't make out who, of course."  
  
"Indeed," replied Hood. He saw Peters, his coxswain, coming up from below decks. "You there! Peters! What is the word? How is Pellew?" he said, anxiously.  
  
"Came through the surgery all right, Sir," mumbled Peters, "but Mr. Smythe says he's not to be moved, Sir. Too much blood lost already, can't risk more. Worried about fever starting in, infection too, he said."   
  
Hood shook his head, looked down. "Is he awake, now?"   
  
"No, sir. Went under again just a short awhile ago. Smythe's got 'is eye on him, though. Shall I tell him to fetch you when he wakes again, Sir?" asked Peters.  
  
"Of course!" barked Hood, and then he caught himself. "Yes, I mean, that will be all, then, Peters."  
  
For the first time Hood noticed Captain Foster by the siderail, peering through his own glass towards the Indy. Some nerve he's got, acting so non-chalant, thought Hood, feeling himself quickly rising towards the boiling point once more.  
  
"Well, Captain Foster," barked Hood, angrily. "Well? Do you by chance have any words of wisdom that might shed some light as to how this sorry, embarrassing, maddening, not to mention DEADLY assault on one of my ships might have happened?"   
  
He was roaring now, he felt his rage fully, his face reddened and arms flailing about. "Well, Man? Christ, your OWN first Officer? How in the name of our Lord am I to explain this to their Lordships? How?"  
  
Foster shifted his stance uncomfortably, his eyes downcast, a marked contrast to his usual cocksure posture of bravado. Where to start?

Foster cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Lord Hood. The long scar on his cheek flushed crimson.  
  
"Collins used to be my midshipman. He started his career under my command."  
  
"Very touching, Captain, does that explain his mutiny?" Lord Hood snapped. He strode a few steps away, then redoubled, pointing a finger at Foster. "I want a full and proper report, d'you hear? Everything that Collins has ever said or done that is suspicious, every rumour that you've heard, every irregularity that you have chosen to ignore before--"  
  
Foster opened him mouth, but a wave of Lord Hood's hand silenced him.  
  
"Bear in mind that you yourself have something to answer for. You had high hopes for the lad Collins, well and good, but he's abused your kind regards, and though it may pain me, I won't follow suit. However much I may esteem your person and character, I cannot allow myself to forget that we may have lost a fine captain and his frigate."  
  
Foster nodded, Lord Hood withdrew, and Foster, placing a hand to his chin, began to think. Dxmnit, he wasn't one for words! Collins was more than just a junior officer--he had known Collins even since the lad had come aboard the Dreadnought years ago, a frightened boy of twelve, and how he had felt for the boy, then and since! And there was no way in Hxll that he could get Hood to understand this, because all the old man had for a son was a blxxding actor-rascal who was continually marrying and fetching up in the wrong places. Had Hood ever felt paternal affection?  
  
Collins had been much like Hornblower, shy, eager, clever, a studious youth who might not have made it far had he lacked a certain vigorous drive or ambition or genius--Foster couldn't find the words to describe it, but Collins, quite simply, did things, made things happen, decided quickly and worked until he'd completed whatever he had to do, at the expense of his sleep and meals, if need be. Foster was this sort of man, too, a man of action. Occasionally, he wondered if he should be more intellectual or something, but this self-doubt always evaporated quickly, for Foster had little time for self-doubts--hardly enough time for abstract thinking, even.  
  
But he had noticed the similarities of Collins' character and his own; he recognized himself in the boy. And this fuelled a paternal affection. Foster had no son--but he'd never felt the lack before he'd met Collins.  
  
And, then, when he'd finally noticed that Collins had altered, eroded somehow in character, he was resolved to stick by the lad and see him through it. Everyone had a rough patch here and there--Foster himself could confess to a six-month term wasted entirely in the most dissolute part of Kingston, and really, at the beginning, there wasn't really anything amiss. He fancied that he was the only one that noticed the change--he could see it in Collins eyes, but only because he knew Collins so well.   
  
Eventually, unfortunately, the problem started to manifest in more obvious ways. Collins, sent to buy two lambs for Foster's private stores, loses the money. Foster dxmns him and forgets. More money disappears, then Collins starts to make other trifling mistakes. Nothing large, a few minutes tardiness to assume his watch, slight negligence amongst his division, a bit of sloppiness in his graphs and charts, all accompanied by the barest decline of enthusiasm. And Foster forgave him all, for Collins was simply steering through personal doldrums or something of the like, and he would soon steer out of them.  
  
Sometime along the way, Foster supposed that he had started to cover for the man, but he could not put a finger on that point. His accounts and reports had always been sketchy, so he stretched them out a bit more (trying not to notice that Collins was doing the same in his), and then, suddenly, he'd come to his senses and realized that Collins had somehow, under his eye, rotted through and through, and it was too late.

"Is it ready?" Hornblower asked, sniffing the air. He could smell the aroma of the coffee beans, tempting him to beg a few sips before Cook stirred the laudanum in. Cook twisted his mouth in consideration.  
  
"Give it a half-minute, Sir."  
  
Hornblower stared at the steaming pot with growing unease. His preference was for clean, honest battle, pistols, cutlasses--this skulking about with laced beverages sat very ill with his sense of honour. It seemed such a short step from drugging a dastardly mutineer to a captain or collegue.  
  
But it was the safest and quickest way to dispatch Collins. Once he was removed, the mutineers, roaring drunk, most of them by now, could be dealt with, and then the ship could be put to rights--a long sequence unfolded in Hornblower's mind, dealing with the damage he had seen above and below decks, and, by the time Cook nodded in satisfaction over the coffee, the act of pouring a small bottle of liquid into a savory drink rather shrunk in significance.   
  
"Now, here's the rub," Cook grimaced, "dose the lot?"  
  
Hornblower nodded, albeit reluctantly. Lady Pellew might welcome several hours' respite from the anxiety that so vividly gnawed her, though he didn't doubt that she would resent it afterwards that she was knocked out and thus rendered unfit to jump ship and swim the short two miles to the squadron to rejoin her husband. And, as for Kennedy...poor, poor Archie, thought Hornblower ruefully. Somehow, Kennedy always wound up drugged, or injured, or starved. He would be unique--there were captains who were invalids, such as old Captain Keane--but no invalid, to Hornblower's knowledge, had yet crawled up past midshipman and lieutenant to captain's rank.  
  
"That per-fee-dious Collins is sittin' in the captain's quarters with the Lady and Kennedy. I'll lay it in with a light hand."  
  
"Carry on, Cook." Hornblower watched as Cook uncorked the bottle of laudanum and emptied its entire contents into the pot. He realized that, all to late, that a light hand, coarsened by twenty years' service in the Navy, was anything but light.  
  
Cook stuck a finger into the brew and sniffed it appreciatingly. "No one'll be the wiser. 'Specially that xrse-wipe Collins. I'll send word."  
  
"Please do." Hornblower's spirits sunk as Cook lifted the pot up and out of sight.

Susanna was annoyed to find herself struggling to stay alert - kidnapped, held at gunpoint, on a mutinous ship of all places, her husband gravely injured, perhaps even - NO, she could not let herself even think the word, let alone say it....and now here she was, heaven forbid, sleepy? Perish the thought!   
  
She shook her head, pulled off the lace tie which, despite the night's adventures, had somehow managed to keep the majority of her chestnut curls pulled back in a neat plait. She loosened the long tresses with her fingers, allowing them to cascade down her shoulders. At least they now covered some of the hideous blood that spotted her gown. She gazed around Edward's day cabin - recalling the remarkably few times she had actually been in it. Well that stood to reason, didn't it. When he came home, or docked into Plymouth, to be correct, he of course wanted to be at home, their home, with her and the children. To bring all of them to Indefatigable - dear God, what a chaotic scene that would be. Emma, the oldest at nearly 16, and showing all signs of having inherited her Mother's beauty, would bat her eyes at every good looking officer who strode past. If Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Kennedy were a fair sampling of the lot then God knew she would have much to fan herself over, dear lass. Julia, their rambunctious younger daughter would most likely want a turn at the wheel or a chance at climbing the riggings, for God's sake. George and Edward, still youngsters, would wreak their usual havoc and disorder on whatever they touched - and if the tide were rough, then George would simply puke, poor boy. Pownoll and Fleetwood would be missing from the brood now, of course, off on their own ships. Two less to deal with, then, she thought, and offered up another prayer for the boys' safety, as she did whenever she thought of her two eldest sons (which was rather often), now launched into their own naval careers.   
  
Eventually her eyes came to rest on the small engraving of her likeness, which Edward had hung on the far wall of the cabin, nicely placed between two sconces. Lord, it was an old one - her hair was still powdered, was it not, and what a miserable practice that had been. Thank God it was no longer the fashion. Indeed it was now the style to crop the hair short - in thanks to Madame La Guillotine, she'd heard. Edward would never hear of that, she knew, smiling quietly. He loved her hair long and loose - had he not told her so many times, in words and actions? Indeed. She sighed, missing him so much it hurt, and hoping fervently that he was safe, being tended to - until she could be beside him.   
  
Collins was eyeing her again, that maddening arrogance of his galling her to the pit of her stomach. Thank God Mr. Kennedy was still here with them, although she could see now that fatigue was creeping over him as well. And he was favoring his side with a frequency that was now beginning to alarm her. Soon, she prayed, soon, there would be the beginnings of daybreak, the fleet would catch up to them, somehow, please.  
  
There was a knock on the door. "Enter!" answered Collins with enthusiasm, her pistol still poised in his hand.  
  
"Cook's axin' if youse all want any coffee, eh?" asked a young lad, looking a mite bit rough around the edges, but no older than Fleetwood, thought Susanna.   
  
Both Kennedy and Collins said yes, immediately. "An' you, then, My Lady?" the boy asked, with a slight bow.  
  
"Oh, thank you, that's most kind of you, " answered Susanna, "but I do not care for coffee - makes me rather ill, I'm afraid."

"It had better taste good," snarled Collins, as an aproned man entered with the steaming coffee, followed by the young lad carrying a tray with Pellew's silver sugar pot, and two cups and saucers. "Otherwise, it will go ill with you," Collins added, hefting a pistol in his hand and glaring menacingly. The man nodded slowly; the boy grew pale and stood motionless.  
  
"If it ain't ta yer likin', then I'll throw more beans in the next lot. It won't be nothin' to sniff up at, you'll find, what with the sugar. The coffee was brewed by me own hand," Cook said, and bowed and scraped to the best of his ability.  
  
"It had better be good, or I'll throw your stinking hide overboard." Collins met Susanna's eye and his demeanour instantly softened. "Would you fancy something rather than coffee, my lady?"  
  
Susanna forced a smile; her hands, hidden under the table, squeezed themselves white. "Some tea, that would be kind, Mr. Collins." And my husband safe and sound and your neck in a noose....if she was polite and patient, pray God, her true requests might be granted.  
  
"You heard the lady--" Collins roared. Cook knuckled his brow with his free hand and turned to leave--Collins stood up, waving his hands wildly.  
  
"What are you on about? The coffee will get cold."  
  
"Beggin' yer pardon," Cook nodded without a hint of reproach. "I'll send the boy down to boil some water."   
  
"Yes, very well." As Collins eased himself back into his seat, he regained his composure. By the time he had completely replanted himself in his chair, he was a new man, calm and pleasant.  
  
"Mr. Crapaud," he grinned at Kennedy, "One lump or two?"  
  
"Two, please."  
  
"Beggin' yer pardon again, Sir," Cook interjected. "Will you be takin' your sugar fore or aft?"  
  
Collins screwed up his face in confusion. "What?"  
  
"See, it was me usual custom to pour in the sugar fore, 'ccordin' to Cap--'ccordin' to those whom I had occazun to pour fore for before."  
  
"The sugar first?"  
  
"Aye. With the milk, which we ain't got."  
  
"And is that usual?"  
  
"Wellll....there be those who'd have violent objecshuns an' the like."  
  
"Which way makes it taste better?"  
  
Susanna studied Collins' expression during this exchange. The man was boxing the compass--enraged one instant, docile the next. He was like a little child right now, he was actually biting his lower lip as he pondered the momentuous decision before him.  
  
"Sugar fore, I believe. I could fetch up another cup, and you cen sample it both ways."  
  
Collins shook his head gravely. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Sugar first, then."  
  
"One or two?"  
  
"Two." Collins glanced at Kennedy, flashing him a conspiritorial grin. "The same as Lieutenant Crapaud."  
  
Cook complied, dishing out the sugar with one of Pellew's silver tea spoons. Susanna's heart ached at the sight. She was the one who had given the tea-service to Pellew--she had picked it out and had packed it in straw and smuggled into his cabin as a surprise when he had first assumed command of the Indefatigable. The prospect of Collins' foul hands polluting it wrenched her innards. When (not if!) this business was over, she would break every piece of china that Collins touched, and melt down the spoons, for good measure.  
  
"And now the coffee!" Collins chirped.  
  
At that moment, there was a knock at the door--it was a red flag. Collins' eyes and forehead bulged with rage.   
  
"Sir--" came the very hesitant voice from the other side.  
  
"Yes? Out with it."  
  
There was a pause--doubtless, the hapless interrupter was deciding whether or not he had been given permission to enter. Finally, he yelled through the door again, obviously choosing the safer route.  
  
"It's gettin' light, and we think we see sails."  
  
Susanna tried not to smile at the news. The Arethusa--good, dear Admiral Hood!  
  
"We're busy!" Collins retorted. "Are they gaining?"  
  
There was no response. Collins leapt out of his seat and wrenched open the door, revealing a cowering and swaying mutineer--the man was terrified, but also clearly drunk. With an imperial sniff, Collins looked him over, up and down.  
  
"Report if she gains." Shutting the door, Collins rejoined the table, and lifted up his cup of coffee.  
  
"Mr. Crapaud?"  
  
Kennedy sipped at his coffee. "It's fine, sir." He swallowed another mouthful.  
  
Collins brought his cup to his nose and sniffed it cautiously. Cook hovered behind him, clutching the pot.  
  
"Is somethin' amiss, Sir?"  
  
"Pray, be quiet."  
  
Slowly, Susanna began to wonder if Collins had ever tasted coffee before, and was wary of it, or if he was succumbing to paranoia.   
  
"It's good, I assure you." Kennedy said, tilting his cup to show that it was half-drained already.  
  
Frowning, Collins fingered his chin with his free hand.  
  
"It smells sort of odd." He turned to Cook and snapped, "Didn't you clean out the pot properly?"  
  
"Indeed. But that water's outa the cask. This ain't no coffee-shop."  
  
"Very well," Collins sighed, bringing the cup to his lips.

Collins paced the cabin, mug in hand, sipping the coffee, stopping every few steps to twirl his pistol and admire the finery of Pellew's decor. Susanna glared at him, daggers in her eyes, as he dared to touch a candlestick, lift the ink blotter. She took mental inventory of each item he defiled as though she was personally prepared to thoroughly disinfect each one when this nasty business was ended. She looked over to Mr. Kennedy, leaning against the sideboard - was it her, or was he having difficulty staying upright? He attempted a weak smile, nodded to her.   
  
"So quiet, now, eh Mu'm!" teased Collins, sauntering towards her. "Lord, but I liked you so much better when you were feisty!" He stopped in front of her, a lascivious gleam in his eye. "Bet you normally keep Sir Edward on his toes right proper then, don't you!" He leaned over to touch her shoulder. Susanna went to slap him and he caught her arm and held it aloft, laughing. "Ah, yes, now that's more like it! I like my women on the spirited side, I do! You'll see!"   
  
"I'll sooner see you dead, Sir!" she cried, yanking her arm back down to her lap, as Kennedy watched helplessly from the side.   
  
"Oh? Just like your husband, then, eh?" he smiled again. Another knock sounded, this time with a louder shuffle of feet. Her tea? Susanna didn't even want it. Her stomach was in such a knot that one drop of water and she'd retch up her guts- for real this time.   
  
"Come!" barked Collins again.   
  
"Begging yer pardon, Sir," slurred one of the mutineers, the stench of rum reaching over to even Susanna's aquiline nostrils at the far end of the cabin. She clasped her handkerchief to her face. "But they're gaining, now. Two ships, plain as day now, Sir."  
  
"And?" shouted Collins indignantly.   
  
"Well, we...uh...was sorta wonderin' Sir," mumbled the drunken man, "what we oughta be doin' then....Sir..."  
  
"Do you have any orders for us, Sir?" prompted one of the younger mutineers, apparently still nearly sober. Susanna nearly felt sorry for him.  
  
"Orders!!!" cried Collins, suddenly pushing the hair back from his brow, and tugging at his collar. "What do you mean, orders??" He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead now.   
  
"Fools!! You men are pathetic!!" he shouted irritably, and wheeled around to Mr. Kennedy with an attempt at a nervous smile. "Seems I must do everything around here!" He grabbed one of the muskets, tossed it over to Kennedy, who barely caught it, and swayed to regain his footing. "You, Monsieur, you keep your eye on the Lady! Right? She's a lively one, eh!"  
  
Kennedy nodded firmly, and watched as Collins drained the last drop of his coffee and followed his men out the door. As the latch closed, Archie dropped his guard and sank down to his knees by the table.   
  
"Mr, Kennedy!" cried Susanna, rushing to his side, "You're hurt, I can see it!"  
  
"No," he slurred, "no, my head...it's...so dizzy...I can't..."  
  
"Sshhhh," whispered Susanna, taking his head into her lap, and cradling him gently. "It's all right...it's all right."  
  
"Oh, God," he murmured. "the coffee....must be....something... in the coffee....must be...so sleepy...can't...stay awake...so sorry, m'am..."  
  
"Hush, now," she said, stroking his hair. She reached for his empty mug, sniffed it. "Hard to tell, such a strong smell...but it could be...wait, ...laudanum! It's bitter - the coffee would disguise it!" She gasped. "Dear Lord, that means Collins got it as well, oh thank God!!"   
  
"yes," said Kennedy, weakly. "That's good, then...so sorry, though...not... looking after you...I should...my apologies...Christ, I can't help it..."  
  
"Don't fight it, Mr. Kennedy," she soothed him. "You'll only make yourself ill. Trust me, I know. It's all right, give in to it, and rest. I'll stay with you." She sighed. "Why, you have been the dearest companion to me in these hellish hours, I cannot thank you enough, Sir!"  
  
Kennedy sighed, and closed his eyes, as Susanna stroked his hair and murmured to him.   
  
"It's all right....It's all right.... Mr, Hornblower is on decks - I'm sure he must have planned this. Oh, God, if it knocks Collins out of the way then it is over! Over! Arethusa will pull alongside us. I will get to Edward," she prayed, "Edward, Edward, my love, hold on. This nightmare is about to end!"

Carrying a lantern, Foster quietly entered the cabin where Pellew slept. One of Lord Hood's lieutenants had kindly made room so that Pellew could convalesce in peace. The doctor's mate, sitting on a stool in the corner, glanced up at Foster's entrance; Foster motioned at him to leave, and the mate hesitated for a few seconds, for he'd been ordered to remain and keep watch for any developments. An angry glare on the part of Foster changed his mind, and he left.  
  
Foster took his seat and stared at Pellew, observing how shallow the injured captain's breathing was, how pale his face. The bandages wrapped over and around his shoulder were stained over his wound, but some of this smirch had faded from red to brown, which Foster took to be a good sign. A moment later, however, he considered the possibility that the bleeding had stopped because Pellew had no blood left. His pallor, after all, was almost one of a corpse. Foster winced involuntarily, briefly envisioning Pellew in a black-creped coffin. A shoulder wound was something one could recover from, but Pellew had not been attended to as quickly as one could hope for, and he had been horribly mishandled, dumped into the freezing sea and dragged to and fro.  
  
Foster never thought himself to be a religious man, but he often prayed under duress. He prayed for Pellew now, feverently wishing and pleading and longing that he would recover, that he would live and resume his command. Circumstances had never drawn the two men into any sort of amiable acquaintance--they disagreed with each other's style of commanding, and Foster was too much of a practical man to fantasize about a sudden flourish of esteem or affection. Yet, he hoped that, if Pellew did live, that he, Foster, would have a chance to make his sincerly felt apology.  
  
Leaning over Pellew, he touched the captain's cold hand and told him this, in a halting, clumsy way.  
  
Then he quit the room, striding past the doctor's mate nervously waiting outside, to his own cabin, which some other hapless lieutenant had been forced to relinguish. He placed a piece of blank paper on the desk and started to compose his report. And he started to swear, too.  
  
Fishing about in the drawer of the desk, he searched for another paper, one from which he could copy the correct introduction. Writing out the plain kind gave him enough grief, never mind a special and important one such as this.  
  
His search yielded nothing but more blank paper. Foster slammed the drawer shut, tipped back in his chair until the front legs rose off the floor--he then brought them down with a slam, and wasted a few more seconds in the sort of squirming one would expect of a reluctant snotty-nosed school-boy. Collecting himself, Foster drew a breath and tried to think of what he wanted to say--and then he opened the desk drawer again, this time for a dictionary. There was none, only the same pile of blank pages that he had found there before. Cursing in vexation, Foster leapt from his chair and paced the room, his sharp stare trained for a book, any book. He dropped on his knees and and looked under the desk, he opened the lieutenant's sea-chest and rifled through the clothing, mostly shirts, therein, and found only a few letters, which didn't promise to be of any use. He swore again, tried to restore the contents of the chest to rights, and closed it, and fumed.  
  
He returned to the desk, and took up the pen, and twirled it about in the air. The next second, he was on his feet, on the verge of sending for a clerk. Surely, Lord Hood didn't trouble to actually write out his reports himself--there had to be at least lackey aboard whose sole purpose was to take dictation.  
  
Foster quickly weighed the imprudence of such a demand--Lord Hood was mad enough at him, already, he'd have no patience with a captain who couldn't be bothered to write out his own reports, especially since--though Lord Hood did not know it, it was this very failing which had precipitated much of the atrocity now occuring.  
  
SIghing, Foster grasped his pen more firmly. The words were clear in his mind--he'd recited them to Collins countless times, but they were devilishly hard to pin down on paper. He had an excellent memory--even a remarkable one--for words and sentences and phrases and entire paragraphs--just so long as he'd heard them first. When told something, he only had to be told once. He could memorize spoken orders far more rapidly than he could read them. He had had schooling, but reading and writing had given him much pains right from the start. Mathematics were far easier to cope with--those numbers represented something, and he could see the geometry and trajectories and charts in his head--but letters simply swirled about on the page. Sometimes, it wasn't so bad, but, at others, especially when he was tired or pressed, he had to struggle with each individual word.  
  
That was why he was so relieved when Collins had first come aboard the Dreadnought. Foster was wary of clerks, but he'd instantly trusted the shy, scholarly boy who had arrived with a parcel of books in his dunnage. At first, he merely set Collins to dictating regular reports--how smoothly those went with the boy's aid, and, so, he'd started to have Collins read things for him, too, just like he once wheedled his fellow midshipmen way back when to read their textbooks aloud to him when he was studying for his lieutenant's exam--thank goodness, that had been an oral one. Gradually, he'd entrusted the boy with more sentitive conrrespondence, and, eventually, with the most secret of Admiralty documents, the canvas wrapped ones that were to be opened at a certain point of latitude.  
  
Clenching his jaw, Foster began to inscribe the date on the upper right of the terrifying blank page.

Collins blinked as he came on deck, and suddenly reached out for the stair rail as a wave of dizziness swept over him. For God's sake, what was up with this? He shook himself in irritation, resumed his stride. His irritation resurfaced nearly immediately however, as he found himself stepping over the bodies of his drunken mutineers. The stench of rum and stale beer, not to mention other even more unseemly smells, was overpowering, setting him to another dizzy spell.   
  
"For God's sake, get this deck swabbed at once!" he cried out, to no one in particular. "You there!" he motioned brusquely to one of his remaining men, still standing, at least. "Wake them all up, for God's sake! Get buckets of sea water up here, straightaway-" but the sky whirled again, and he grasped for the railing. Dear God, but his head felt like a ton weight on his neck.   
  
"Ah've got breakfast, jus comin' up 'ere Sir!" spoke up a man in an apron, with an amazingly carefree grin and a large pot of something rather nasty looking beside him. Collins squinted, to try and clear his vision, the cook seemed to be undulating in front of him. Next to him stood the young mate, then a man with bandages all about his face, but for his eyes. Those eyes - peering out from the wrapping, they were piercing. Piercing him, right through him.   
  
Collins gasped, swayed again, reached out to the confused crewman beside him, and felt himself caught under his armpits for a moment. Thank God, he thought. Then, in incredulous but powerless shock, he felt the man let go. He had been dropped. Dropped! And was falling, falling down onto the deck into blackness, his pistol sliding from his grasp and scurrying across the deck.   
  
Hornblower stripped off his wrappings and seized the moment, as well as the stray pistol. "Leave him!" he shouted, brandishing the pistol at the sorry lot of them. "Stand away, now. Now!" He motioned the few straggling men away from Collins' still form. Oldroyd and Cook appeared beside him, each with muskets primed, and together they formed a line in front of the fallen traitor. Hornblower took a breath, and faced them all.   
  
"Men, listen to me! To me!" he cried. "This man is a traitor! A traitor! He's worth no more than your spit!"   
  
Silence.   
  
At the first sounds of the uproar, Susanna had crept aloft, reluctant to leave Mr. Kennedy, but unable to stay away, and hid herself behind a barrel. She watched Collins fall with conspiratorial satisfaction, and now quietly urged Hornblower on from her perch.   
  
"He has no thought for you, not a one! He would desert you as easily as he has deserted his country - his own honor! I beg you, hear me!" The mutineers still stood their meager ground, gripping their muskets, motionless, as Oldroyd and Cook flanked Hornblower, their weapons poised in the standoff.  
  
"I am Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower of Indefatigable! And I tell you that the only man with the right to command this ship is Captain Sir Edward Pellew! There is not a more wiser or worthy commander at sea and he is a just man, I promise you! Those of you who were coerced, who were threatened into joining Mr. Collins, I give you my word, the captain will see that your story is heard, I promise you!" He paused for breath. Were they hearing him? "Renounce this, all of you! There may yet be leniency! Lay down your arms, let us restore the Indy to rights, tend to our wounded, and let us get safely home! The Arethusa approaches now and you stand NO chance of succeeding now it is daybreak, you must see this!"  
  
Murmurs and a shuffling of feet took up the empty airspace for a few torturous moments. Susanna felt her heart pounding out of her chest. Please, she prayed, please.   
  
"E's right!" cried a lone voice, at long last. "I ain't dyin' for the likes of 'im…Not 'im!" Shouts of assent followed in accompaniment to a cascade of falling muskets and swords to the floorboards. Hornblower motioned to Cook, quickly, and looked down at Collins. "Get him in irons, right away, now!" He turned aside. "Oldroyd, over there -untie them, quickly, man!" he shouted, indicating poor Mr. Bracegirdle and Mr. Bowles, the latter of whom was nursing a nasty bruise to his forehead. He glanced up and saw that they had their colors down still, and the cease fire signals still aloft from the night before.   
  
Bracegirdle saw it as well. "I'll see to the signals, Mr. Hornblower. And the colors," he paused, rubbing the circulation back into his stiff arms. "Well done, Horatio. The Captain would be proud. I know I am."   
  
Hornblower nodded, "Let's get her home, Sir."  
  
As the Arethusa came alongside, it did not take long for her officers, and Admiral Hood to see that order, or some semblance of it had been restored. The mutineers had surrendered, it seemed, and were seated at one end of the deck, guarded by Oldroyd and Cook, who looked to have found a rather unexpected pleasure in the wielding of a musket as opposed to his usual wooden serving spoon. His mate had handed out bowls of pease porridge (untainted, it should be noted - their surrender having made the earlier batch unnecessary) so while the mutineers - those who were not already passed out drunk, mind you, were a mite bit nervous as to the fate that awaited them, their stomachs were at least now full. The remaining few boats were lowered, to ease off some of the Indy's wounded that had overflowed poor Hepplewhite's capacity, and Arethusa sent some of its own boats on over as well and then arrangements were made for a towing line, to ease the crippled frigate back into port.   
  
Needless to say, along with the first boatload went Lady Pellew, beside herself by now to reach her husband. Mr.Hornblower went with her, so as to give his report to Admiral Hood, with Mr. Bracegirdle now firmly restored to acting commander of the Indy, Collins clapped in irons in the ship's hold, and still out cold.   
  
Susanna didn't even have to ask where Edward was. Hood had seen her coming over and had ordered Peters to get her below at once. The Admiral's relief was undeniable at seeing the mutiny come to an end – he had scanned the decks of Indefatigable anxiously as they came alongside to see if Collins was anywhere to be found. Was he alive, then? Chained up like the traitorous dog he was, or cast overboard, perhaps, or nothing more than a corpse stowed in the hold? D@mn, but he wanted him alive. I want a trial, thought Hood, let's have it all flushed out then, and see how far this stink reaches. He looked about on decks for Foster, but did not see him. Perhaps he was below, then, writing up his long overdue report, maybe? Hood set his mouth in a fierce line. So many loose ends now to tie up now. Not the least of which was an accounting to Pellew. And an apology as well, it seemed. And, assuming he recovered, please God, a new ship. It was time.  
  
************  
  
Susanna gasped at the sight of her husband. She had never seen him so still, so pale, but for the start of a flush high upon his cheekbones. Smythe was changing the dressing, relieved to see that the bleeding seemed to have finally stopped, and apologizing to her Ladyship for her having to have suffered the sight of the stained bandages, until she cut him off and took the soiled linen from him personally to set onto the table and out of the man's way. She moved to Edward's other side and took up his hand in hers, reaching with her other hand to stroke the hair back from his brow. "He feels warm," she said.  
  
"Aye, M'um, there's fever starting up now, I don't wonder. Mind you, the wound looks clean, if I do say so myself, but the exposure, the chill, I'm afraid there's no way to avoid it, see."  
  
She nodded. "Lord Hood should like him taken ashore. I confess I would as well. Please understand, Mr. Smythe, I am so very grateful to you for all you have done, but-"  
  
"you'd like to 'ave him in a right proper bed what don't swing like a pendulum? A fire maybe? Proper food, and water not tapped from the bilges, eh, m'Lady?" he smiled. Susanna relaxed, then, her shoulders dropping with ease and her own smile full of warmth and appreciation. "You don't need to explain nothing to me, M'um, it's no less than what he deserves. Seen it myself, many times, how proper nursing can make all difference, it can." He nodded, securing the last fold of the dressing into place. "I was concerned before that moving 'im might re-open the wounds - start the bleeding again - but it's been several hours now and no sign of trouble there."   
  
"Thank you, Sir," answered Susanna. "Thank you for all you have done for him. I shall not forget it, I promise you." And after a slight bow to her, the dirty bandages rolled and tucked under an arm, he left to see to the arrangements for getting the capting over the side.

Foster heard the commotion above decks and left his unfinished report on the desk, grabbing his coat as he ran out the door.   
  
"What's happened!" he asked anxiously.  
  
Hood turned from the railing on the quarterdeck and regarded him. "It's all over and we have Mr. Hornblower to thank for it."  
  
Foster didn't know whether to cry or cheer. But he knew it was far from over. No it was just beginning.   
"Sir, I would like to return to the Indy," he said without feeling.  
  
This caught the admiral off guard. "Why?" he said simply.  
  
"I am assuming Collins is alive." Hood nodded.  
  
"Well I would like to talk to him. Find out why he did this."  
  
For a moment Hood thought he caught emotion in Foster's voice. "Very well. Take a boat. Report back when you can."  
Foster nodded appreciatively and saluted.   
  
Boarding the Indy he took note of all the destruction caused by the fleet. It didn't even look like a ship. There where enough holes punched in her to make swiss chees. "Dear God," he thought. "And it still floats!"  
Slowly he made his way below, heading for the hold he passed the infirmary. A voice called after him. "Captain Foster! Is that you!"  
  
Foster stopped and turned to see a smiling Horatio Hornblower standing in the doorway. "Who did you think it was? A ghost?"  
  
Horatio tried not to laugh and shook his head. "Please sir, any news of Captain Pellew?"  
  
Foster followed him back into the infirmary. "Arethusa's doc says he will recover just fine. In fact I heard Lady Pellew is taking him back to shore within the hour."  
  
A wave of relief washed over Horatio as he heard the news. Foster saw this too. "That is good to hear sir." Horatio turned his attention to someone lying in a cot a few feet from him. "Did you hear that Archie? Captain's just fine."  
  
A groan escaped from the pale boy as Foster peeked around Hornblower to see who he was talking to. The ashen face of Kennedy filled his eyes as he gasped," What in God's name happened to him!"  
  
Horatio seemed to blush with embarrassment as he turned away from the sickly lieutenant.  
"Well," he whispered," I had to use some unusual methods to stop the mutiny and Mr. Kennedy unfortunately befall part of that."  
  
They were interrupted by the sound of Archie vomiting violently into a waiting bag. Foster decided it was time to leave. "Um, I see. Very good Mr. Hornblower. Carry on." Quickly he retreated from the room and the additional sound of Archie relieving his stomach of its contents.   
  
But Horatio followed after him. "Sir?"  
  
Foster stopped in mid stride. "Yes?"  
  
"Collins is in the hold." Foster nodded and continued on his way. He knew he had to face the boy again. But this time it would be with a heavy heart.

By the light of the lantern hanging from a beam overhead, Collins looked more like a dummy or corpse. He lay on his back in a very uncomfortable contraposto, his arms, tied together, flung one way, his legs twisted in another, and his head wrenched back at a steep angle and his hair unfastened. His uniform was also in great disorder, his coat was crumpled underneath him, his stockings had fallen around his ankles, above the shackles, his waistcoat was unfastened and hiked up under his arms and his shirt, pulled out of his waistband, bore the unsavory evidence of recent vomiting.   
  
The sight was hard for Foster, especially since Collins, even during the last stages of his degeneration, had always kept himself very tidy. Foster had seen him carried aboard once, sunk unconcious after a bend, and he'd marvelled that Collins had managed to collapse in the gutter (his uniform was splashed) without disturbing a hair of his mirror-smooth coif.  
  
But, foremost in Foster's mind, were the images of the young Collins. Somehow, though the man was approaching his thirties, Foster never ceased to see him as the frightened little mid, the gawky, skinny twelve-year-old with the treble voice. How often had he thought, when Collins had misplaced some dispatch or other, "Oh, blast it, he's just a lad"?  
  
Collins made a weak hacking noise just then, his fingers flapping limply. Foster strode to his side, and, kneeling beside him, turned his head, lifting it at the same time, so that he wouldn't retch over himself. After a few heaves, Collins quieted, a strand of dribble dangling from his slack mouth. Foster arranged his slack form in the least grotesque form possible and stepped back, studying his first lieutenant.   
  
And then, suddenly, all of Foster's preconceptions and prejudices fled from his mind, every last trace of that pathetically eager boy, every last trace of the older youth with the clever lopsided grin--Foster, for the first time, saw Collins clearly, a dissolute, heartless traitor, consumed by greed and envy and pride. The tears rose up in Foster's eyes--he tried to wrack his memories for the first sign--he saw many--but not the first. When could have it started? Collins, when preparing for his lieutenant's exam, had acted odd a few times, not in a way that was curious in itself, but counter to his normal character. Was it then? Or even before?  
  
A creak of the deck snapped him to attention; he wiped the wet from his eyes.  
  
"Captain Foster?"  
  
Foster spoke to Hornblower without turning to him.  
  
"I can't get anything out of him."  
  
Hornblower nodded apologetically, though Foster could not see it. "It was necessary, I regret to say, sir."  
  
"He will hang, Mr. Hornblower. You've only prolonged or postponed the inevitable. I should have changed it completely." With a quick step, Foster whirled about and left the hold, whisking past Hornblower with some haste.

Horatio watched Foster go but lingered a moment in front of the slumped mutineer. Horatio knew Foster didn't defend a man, or any man for that matter, that he didn't trust with his life. Horatio remembered saving the Captain's life on that burning ship and how he had treated him differently after. It was as if he was an equal. And now Collins had not only betrayed Foster and all that was dear to him but tried to murder him as well.   
  
"A son turning on his father." Horatio couldn't help but think those words. As Collins rolled over onto his side, Horatio felt pity for him. Now he understood in a way how Pellew felt for him. With a sigh he turned and left Collins to his own misery.   
  
Pellew wondered where he was. Why wasn't he in his bed? Why did the ship not sway? What was going on? Slowly he opened his eyes and tried to focus them on someone sitting near him. But the image was blurry and he couldn't make it out. He tried to speak but his parched throat refused to work proper. With great effort he tried to remember the events of the past few days. All was a jumble of sword fights, men yelling, and water everywhere. Suddenly the figure moved. It seemed so familiar. Susanna?   
  
"My darling! Can you hear me?" Pellew smiled up at her glowing face, relieved as much as she was. "Oh my love! You are awake!" She seemed as a schoolgirl again, giddy and happy. With great effort Pellew reached up and touched her cheek. Eagerly she took his hand in hers and held it against her soft flesh. Now his eyes slowly caught sight of her. He sighed deeply at her image. But she wasn't quite herself. For starters her hair, which was usually in a proper bun, lay uncombed about her shoulders. And her dress was torn and dirty. Pellew's smile quickly faded into a frown. She pressed a cup of water to his chapped lips, the whole time he took in her disheveled appearance. Gulping down the water brought some relief and he spoke hoarsely. "Good God Susanna! How in the bloody h@ll did you get that black eye!" A giggle escaped her and she beamed down at him. She knew he would be just fine.

"It's courtesy of the same Mr. Collins who put that ball through your shoulder, my Dear, but please, it's nothing!" Edward reached over weakly to gently touch the slight discolored patch near her eye. She winced, slightly, and took his hand to her lips, kissing it softly. "It's just a bruise, Edward. You'll be the one with the scars, not me."   
  
"But what were you doing out there?" He shook his head. "It's no place for you!"  
  
Her eyes flashed for a moment. "And I suppose standing idly on the dock just watching IS the place for me?"  
  
"Susanna, you could have been killed!" he cried hoarsely.  
  
"No more than you!"   
  
"That's different, you know it is. It's my duty to be there."  
  
"Oh? And I suppose it's my duty to just stand there and watch you get blown to bits? My love, don't tell me that after 17 years of marriage you know me so little as that!" she said, stung that he possibly might.  
  
"No," he sighed, reaching for her hand. "No. Your courage, fearlessness, even, never ceases to amaze me, Susanna." He paused, shivering suddenly, and she softly pulled the blankets further up around his shoulders. "Your devotion...But you were endangered my love," he continued, "to think I could have lost you. You!.. I could never-"  
  
"But you did not - and nor shall I lose you, though I certainly intend to fuss over you a bit now to see you properly recovered."   
  
He sighed, as she genly unfolded and placed another warm blanket over him. "Where are we? This isn't the Mermaid, as I recall…"  
  
"No darling, we are guests of Admiral Hood. He would not take no for answer and I confess I was not inclined to argue with him, wanting the comforts of home myself. He'll be by to see you a bit later, I'm sure of it," she answered, reaching for a china teacup and settling in beside him. "Now then, do you think you can take a little of this willowbark tea? It might help with the fever, darling. Get you more comfortable."  
  
She gave him a few spoonfuls, and he settled further back on his pillows. His shoulder was still throbbing and her conversation had been a welcome distraction. "You know, you haven't told me - how you managed to get out there - however did you find someone to take you?"  
  
"Well, I had a bit of help from the Admiral, I confess, my dear."  
  
"What?" he whispered, his eyes wide in amazement. "You came out with Lord Hood? He agreed to take you?"  
  
"Well I suppose I didn't exactly give him a choice. Here, darling, just one more sip, now. You see, once I jumped into his boat-"  
  
He choked for a second, coughed to get his breath back, wincing. "You JUMPED onto Admiral Hood's boat?"   
  
"Well, yes. You see it was right there in front of me, so why not, I thought - I knew he was going the same place as me, after all -"  
  
"After all…" he sighed. Dear God.  
  
"So then it was either take me with him or dump me over the side – well even Lord Hood wouldn't dare do that to a Lady, so there you go."  
  
"I see…" He shook his head, smiling.  
  
"Oh I shouldn't worry Edward, I did save his life a bit later on – shouted at him to get down when Collins had them try to shoot him."  
  
"Did you…hmm, what else did I miss, I wonder?" he said, softly.  
  
"I'll tell you the whole sorry lot of it, I promise, when you're better," she said, brushing the hair back from his brow. "You have two very brave young lieutenants that you should be quite proud of. But, you need to rest now."  
  
"As do you," he murmured, feeling the weakness suddenly overtake him.  
  
"Indeed - I shall have a bath and a change of clothes and feel like a new woman, I think! I'll send the steward in to you in case you need anything, and then I'll be back, all right?"  
  
"yes," he nodded softly, his eyes closing. "Kiss me, before you go?"  
  
"You have to ask?" she said, leaning in close to kiss him softly.  
  
"Mmmm" he sighed. "Come back soon, promise me?"

Collins shivered under the intense glare of the men who sat in front of him. His hands were shackled as well as his legs. They made a clanking noise as the irons shook about his wrists. Collins felt like a frightened child who wanted to hide in the corner. Foster could sense all this by just one look at the man's face. He felt sorry for him as for himself. He now had to explain how his right hand man was a traitor and a coward. Not only that but why he as Captain of the Dreadnought had allowed such a man to stay aboard and do what he did.  
  
Foster could only think one word. Blackmail. Collins was blackmailing him. But if he said that, then he would have to explain exactly what Collins had on him. Foster hated this with a passion. All the bureaucracy and politics made him sick. All he wanted was to be sailing again on his ship on some grand adventure. Not stuck in a room determining when one of his own would hang. And yes he would hang; there was not one doubt in his mind about that.   
  
Admiral Hood cleared his throat before he spoke. "Anthony James Collins, you are accused of mutiny before this board. As well as several other serious charges. Do you understand this?"  
  
Collins didn't speak, only nodded and fidgeted with his chains. Hood continued. "You were the first lieutenant of the Arethusa under Captain Foster, correct?"  
  
This time Collins managed to speak. But he sounded like a mouse, not the murderous fiend he had been aboard the Indy. "Yes sir."  
  
Hood paused a moment before going on. "Captain Foster, please tell us how your first was able to take over the Indefatigable while you were in command."  
  
Foster stood from his seat behind Collins. "Sirs, I have known this man since he first came on my ship at the age of twelve," he began. "I myself watched and taught him till he was promoted to my first. He was one of the bravest men I have seen, in fact saving my life several times. It is no easy task to serve aboard a frigate as many of you know. It takes a certain kind of man to sail on the sea day after day. Mr. Collins loved his work and showed that. Even after what has occurred, I still am honored to have served with the lad." A slight murmur reverberated about the full room.   
  
"Please, hush!" Hood prodded.  
  
Foster continued. "But as to what changed him or drove him to mutiny I can only offer one explanation." Foster sighed before he spoke the word. He knew his own career was about to end. He inhaled sharply before d@mning himself. But a voice boomed out, stopping his suicide at the last second. "Captain Foster bares no blame here gentlemen!"  
  
All heads swiveled to the door and the sight of Captain Pellew coming to the rescue of his friend. Admiral Hood looked confused. "Sir Edward! Are you well enough to be here sir?"  
Pellew marched boldly to Foster's side. "I am sir. And if I may, I would like to point out the innocence of Captain Foster in this matter." Foster stared at him wild eyed, never imaging in his wildest dreams that Captain Sir Edward Pellew would defend him and his honor. He stood as enraptured as the rest of the men in the room. Waiting anxiously for the commander of the Indy to speak.

Meanwhile, in a bustling townhouse nearby....  
  
Lady Hood poured the tea, shaking her capped head all the while. "You let him go? He actually went to the trial? With Alfred this morning? Dear Me!"  
  
"Gertrude, my dear, we are talking about Edward, you know," smiled Susanna resignedly. "In all honesty, I was actually rather proud of myself that I was able to keep him in bed for two whole days!" She looked rather pleadingly at her kind hostess, her brown eyes hoping for understanding, the nearby bruise of a few days ago now nearly and thankfully vanquished.  
  
Gertrude took in those soulful eyes, and shook her head again, laughing this time.  
  
"And at least he's wearing the sling - after the doctor insisted - the only way to keep him from trying to move his shoulder!" Susanna continued. "I told him it made him look more distinguished -- rather like Lord Nelson – I don't think he thought that was terribly funny, though."  
  
"Well, my dear child, you have no doubt done your best - and at least he's over the chill and the fever. Still looked as pale as chalk this morning, if you ask me. Well, he will find his own way back to himself, he always does." Gertrude smiled, stirred the sugar into her tea.   
  
These past three days had been such a joy for her - with the Pellews suddenly in unexpected residence. When it seemed certain that what with the major repairs now needed to Indefatigable, and the upcoming court martial, not to mention their own respective rather close brushes with death - the both of them - Edward had seconded in an instant Susanna's wish to send for the children. Gertrude had welcomed the thought - even Lord Hood himself smiled at the idea, surprisingly so, and both insisted that there was plenty of room - and indeed there was. So the whole entourage had arrived, turning the stately, yet somewhat somber Hood residence overnight into the epicenter of the happy chaos that is joyful domesticity.   
  
The maid went to retrieve a second pot of tea for the two of them as suddenly a small rather mop- topped little cherub poked his head into the doorway. "Mama," he whispered, his big brown eyes darting this way and that.  
  
"Yes, Edward, dear, what is it?" Susanna smiled at this interruption of her youngest. "It's all right, you may come in, sweetheart." He checked the corridor once more, as if to see if the coast were clear, and then came beside her, eyeing the biscuits hungrily.  
  
"Would you like a biscuit, young man?" asked Lady Hood, gazing fondly at the young lad before her. How old would her grandchild have been, if only Lucy had not been lost...….she shook herself back to the present, and lifted the tray over so that young Master Edward could choose a biscuit. The boy allowed his eyes to roam over the tempting tray, and plucked up a piece of shortbread, while murmuring quietly to his Mother.  
  
"Yes, of course," said Susanna. "You may choose one for George and Julia as well. But that's not why you came in here, is it, darling?" Young Edward shook his head as his mother ruffled up his hair.  
  
"George sent me in, Mama, to see if we could borrow one of your hat pins. If you would please," he spoke carefully.  
  
Susanna's eyebrows raised, and Gertude bit back a grin. "And, what, may I ask," said Susanna, "would you require a hat pin for, my dear?"   
  
"We are doing experiments in the back garden. George and Julia have turned over one of the rocks along the primrose path and there are pillbugs, Mama! Scores of them!" Young Edward's eyes lit up like stars.   
  
Gertrude pressed her hand to her lips. Susanna took a deep breath and eyed her five year old son rather suspiciously. "These experiments, then, involving a hatpin and pillbugs, you say?"  
  
Edward nodded in pure glee, and Susanna tried hard to suppress the urge to chuckle. "Hmmmm....Why don't you go and see what Nancy has for you, my dear," wondering if their nanny had in fact already said no to her charge's request for such a potentially deadly implement, "or perhaps you could see if a nice slender stick would work just as well" she said sweetly, "for what it is you have in mind, dear....whatever that is, of course," she finished, images whirling through her mind of a whole assembly of poor pillbugs impaled on a hat pin like so many beads and wondering what in God's name George, or more likely, Julia, knowing her, had planned for such a grisly congregation.   
  
Little Edward nodded, with just a hint of disappointment, as though he knew it was a long shot from the beginning, and with a request for just two more biscuits, granted, he sped off to return to his outdoor adventure.  
  
Gertrude and Susanna burst into giggles. "What a darling boy!" said Gertrude. "Such delightful children you have, my dear! Honestly! Emma, such a lovely thing, Julia, so inquistive, but so sharp! And the two younger boys, such energy! Dear me!"  
  
"We have much to be thankful for, indeed, dear Gertrude. And the two boys out at sea, I pray for their safety each day. Especially lately."  
  
"yes, child, indeed," murmured Gertrude, patting her hand. "So, little Edward, he is the last, then?"  
  
"Oh, dear God, I do hope so!" cried Susanna, and then the two of them burst once more into streams of laughter. "Six is surely enough, don't you think?" she asked, wiping away tears of laughter. "The good Lord could not have THAT much of a sense of humor, could he? I mean, not that I don't love my husband dearly, I do, but-"  
  
"My dear there is no doubt of that, none at all," smiled Gertrude, turning more serious now. "Why, that dreadful night, when I went to find you at the Inn and Charlotte told me that you'd gone down to the docks, I knew before I even arrived that you would have done anything to get to him... And do you know, you have sparked me to a new appreciation of my own dear Alfred, indeed you have, Susanna. I am seeing him in a new way these days - thanks to you, my dear."  
  
"His is not an easy task, Gertrude. To sit in judgment of the court martial now," Susanna said. "I do not envy him. For it is certain that Captain Foster will either be implicated, or cast in suspicion of some sort. A wretched job, even if a worthy one. To seek justice - it is not always so pure and simple, is it?"  
  
"Indeed, you are right about that."  
  
"Even Edward, wanting to be there, not because of Collins, of course, certainly not - his fate is sealed, for God's sake, but for Foster. He told me he had to be there for Captain Foster!" Susanna shook her head. "He doesn't even like the man personally and still he took a shot for him, still thinks of him as a colleague - worthy of his support."   
  
"So he will come to Foster's aid then? How?" asked Gertrude.  
  
"I wish I knew, my dear," replied Susanna. "I wish I knew. Such a shame that we cannot be there in the courtoom, is it not?"

Pellew stood next to Foster, letting the silence in the stuffy room sink in before he spoke further. His finger touched the small envelope in his pocket and he marveled once more at how Hornblower and Kennedy had found it. Pellew didn't believe in fate but he certainly wouldn't deny luck. After Collins had been taken off his ship, Hornblower had felt the need to search the ship, for some strange reason. And lucky he did. Or was it?  
It all seemed a bit convenient finding this letter thrown under some clothes in a corner in his cabin. But now that he had it in his possession there was no way he was not about to confront the Admiralty with it.   
  
Pellew cleared his throat and pulled the paper from his pocket. "I have here in my hand gentlemen, the proof that proves Captain Foster had no knowledge of Collins being a bad seed." All the admiral's eyes were on the gleaming paper.   
  
"Well what is it?" one of them barked impatiently. A sly grin crossed his face briefly as he continued. "Gentlemen, these are orders written by your own hands."  
The room exploded into angry voices and uncertain tones. Hood pounded the table with his gavel, trying to restore order.   
  
Foster couldn't believe his ears and stared dumbfounded at Pellew. "It seems the Admiralty's right hand didn't know what its left hand was doing, sirs." Pellew let the accusation fly. There was no denying it now. The Admiralty in all its glory had made a mistake. And Pellew intended to let them know it.  
  
Admiral Hood rose from his chair slamming his gavel against the table. Finally the murmur died down. Hood remained standing. "Sir Edward, Captain Foster. Please meet me in my office. This court is in recess for one hour." And with that he slammed the table once more. Everyone was stunned as men hurriedly exited the room. Quickly Foster and Pellew headed to Hood's office.   
  
"Where in the world did you get that?" Foster asked incredibly.   
  
Pellew smiled all knowingly," Well, let's just say you are once again in Mr. Hornblower's debt."  
  
Pellew rapped on the door and they entered. Hood sat in his chair his back to them, staring out the second floor window. "Sir?" Pellew asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as he could. The pain in his shoulder was starting to throb.  
  
"I had suspected something like this would occur," Hood began. "I just never thought it would lead to this." He sighed heavily and turned to face them.   
  
"A sad day indeed sir," Pellew agreed.  
  
"Yes. Captain Foster you are free to go back to the Arethusa. I return you to your rank as her captain sir."  
  
Foster gave Pellew a quizzical look. "Is that it sir?"  
  
Hood caught his eye. "What do you mean is that it? What more do you want Captain?"  
  
Foster inhaled sharply. But Pellew spoke before his hotheaded friend could. "I think we are both wondering about an investigation into this matter sir."  
  
Hood nodded. "Oh you can count on that Sir Edward. I will personally take care of that. But for now, I order you both to return to your ships and prepare for your next voyage gentlemen. Good day."  
  
Foster and Pellew saluted in unison before leaving. Exiting the Admiralty, they shared a ride back to Hood's home and Pellew's wife. "Poor Collins," Foster commented in the carriage.   
  
Pellew agreed solemnly. "Yes. He will still hang I'm afraid. But there was nothing you could have done man. You hear me, nothing."  
  
"But I still feel responsible. If only I had confronted him before he took matters into his own hands."  
  
"Foster, Jonathan," Pellew sighed. "Collins did this and you could not have known. He saw the Admiralty's conflicting orders and took advantage. Seeing the rift was too much of a temptation and he thought could sell this to our enemies. Thank God he didn't have a real plan and was stopped before taking the Indy and killing anyone."  
  
Foster shook his head, knowing his wise friend was correct. The carriage bolted to a halt. "Here's my stop," Pellew said wearily and slowly climbed out. "Care to come in for a cup of tea?"  
  
"No thank you Sir Edward. I really must return to my ship. Having not been there for over a month I fear there is nothing left of her."   
  
Pellew smiled. "Yes I will be back aboard the Indy tomorrow. I wager she will be ready to sail by the end of this week."  
  
"What!" Foster bellowed "That is impossible sir! She was nearly blown out of the water, enough holes in her to make swiss cheese!"  
  
At this Pellew only laughed. "Ah yes, but then Mr. Hornblower is quite the miracle worker. Along with the rest of the crew."  
  
"Mr. Hornblower is an exceptional officer." Foster cleared his throat, becoming uncomfortable. "Please, hmm, offer him my gratitude."  
  
It sounded more like a question than an answer but Pellew nodded. "I will sir. I would also be honored if you would attend dinner aboard two nights from now?"  
  
"Yes sir, I will." Pellew turned to leave. But Foster stopped him. "Sir Edward, I.."  
  
Pellew stopped his back to him. "Yes? Captain Foster?"  
  
Foster searched for the words. He owed so much to this man now and d@nm it he had to thank him. He swallowed his pride, for once in a very long time. "Thank you."  
  
Satisfied, Pellew nodded and continued into the house and his waiting family.

Pellew sat at his desk in his cabin. A month had passed since that horrible day with the Admiralty. He set the paper he had been reading, down on the dark wood surface. A heavy sigh escaped him as he re read the words. "Mutineer Collins hung."  
  
Someone engaged in lively conversation caught his thoughts. Hornblower and Kennedy stood on the quarterdeck, enjoying the evening breeze. Once again they eagerly pointed to the lights of Portsmouth. But this time was different. The whole ship was abuzz with the news. Pellew was taking a new command, Impetueux. But that was not all. Most of the Indy crew were being transfered to other ships. The whole crew new this now and clammered about, chatting away about their future.   
  
With a smile Pellew rose and left the room, heading for his two young lieutenants. Archie worked his gaze vigoriously. First staring at Portsmouth then about the ship, and finally at his comrade, Horatio. Pellew came up behind them, enjoying every happy sound, as if revealing in his childrens sound at Christmas.  
  
"Sir!" Horatio said surprised. "At ease Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy." They both smiled, unable to contain themselves. "I take it you are please with your orders to report to the Renown?" he teased.  
  
Both men nodded and grinned eagerly. "Yes sir!"  
"Very good. I know you will both excell under Captain Sawyer."  
"Indeed, sir," Horatio said enthusiastically. "We look forward to it."  
  
"Yes," Pellew sighed, a bit sad. "Sir?" Archie asked, catching the hint of sadness.  
"Oh it's nothing Mr. Kennedy just....." Pellew looked about the Indy. How much he would miss her. She had served him well and he would greatly miss what had become his second home. He also knew he would never have such a fine crew as he had at that exact moment. No, things would never be the same. But that was life as it is. Always changing. "I wish you good luck gentlemen."  
  
Archie and Horatio beamed. "Yes sir."   
Horatio added," And to you sir."  
  
The two young men watched ,feeling a bit sad themselves, as Pellew took one last walk about his ship.


End file.
